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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691678">under thorn and bramble</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeathchamber/pseuds/thedeathchamber'>thedeathchamber</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Drama, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Minor Violence, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:34:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,931</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeathchamber/pseuds/thedeathchamber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 445: A historical AU where Louis is working as a servant on a farm. The family that owns the farm is exceedingly cruel to him and he is often exhausted and in pain from his work. A mysterious stranger boards at the farm and is very intrigued by Louis, but Louis doubts his interest in genuine. Any pairing fine.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Louis Tomlinson/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><br/>Written for BL Fic Fest - thank you to the mods for all their work and patience! </p><p>To the person who submitted the prompt: Hopefully this is close enough to what you requested, and pre-industrial 18th century England works for you as setting. Whatever your expectations, I hope this won’t be too much of a disappointment!</p><p>-</p><p>  <a href="https://louehvolution.tumblr.com/post/640408341498200064/under-thorn-and-bramble-pairing-louis">Post on Tumblr.</a></p><p>-</p><p>Please note that there are a few instances of verbal and physical abuse in this fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain is so fine it does not seem to touch them, even at the sedate pace Oli is leading Turnip. It is an unnecessary precaution, although the fog has hastened the onset of night—all three of them could walk the path along the riverbank blindfolded, Louis is certain. </p><p>He holds onto the pony’s reins with one hand, his grip loose and distracted. Even sitting upright on the saddle he feels the pull of sleep, Turnip’s walk is so gentle and he is so tired.<br/>Oli whistles tunelessly alongside him, his slow tramp calling forth the strong scent of the wet grass, which grows thick and verdant with the coming of spring. His cap is pulled so low over his face that from his angle astride Turnip Louis can only see the tips of his ears and the end of his long nose—familiar features after their long years of friendship.</p><p>“I should have walked,” Louis blurts out, overcome with sudden emotion. “You could get in trouble, if John finds out you brought Turnip over just for me. And his temper has been shorter than usual these last weeks.”</p><p>Oli responds with an unconcerned grunt and a shrug. “Any trouble I might get into will be less than you will if you get back late.”</p><p>“I’m already late.”</p><p>“Even later.”</p><p>Louis scratches at the worn leather reins with one fingernail, chin to his chest. “Well. Nothing I’m not used to anyway.” </p><p>“Hm. Still. Best avoid it.” Oli gives the pony’s shoulder a thump, and his tone lightens: “And Turnip enjoys the walk.”</p><p>“In the rain, after a day of work?” Louis asks wryly.</p><p>“Sure. As much as I do,” he replies with his usual deadpan humour. “She has always been a strange one.”</p><p>A soft laugh escapes Louis, but the thought of having to walk back from the fields after a long day sobers him at once. “Oli… thank you.”</p><p>Oli pats his hand. “It’s no hardship,” he says simply. Then heaves a comical sigh. “I am starving, though. No idea what Ann was making for dinner, have you? She’s a right old harpy, but she can cook—and there’s always enough and to spare.”</p><p>“I don’t doubt it—she sneaks you extra, you know. She has a weakness for gingers, to be sure,” Louis teases, reaching over to give him a light flick in the ear. </p><p>Ann Lucas has never been quite so accommodating for him—in fact, he is not all that certain there will be any dinner for him tonight, after he failed to show up to help prepare it, nevermind his reasons—but he cannot begrudge his friend her favour.</p><p>“I’ll be sure to take off my cap when I go see her… out of respect,” Oli jokes, readjusting his cap for effect.</p><p>A clatter of horseshoes on stone silences their laughter, and they stare at each other in surprise. Outside of market days the village almost never gets visitors, least of all after dark. Voices reach them next: two adult males with a polished English accent—not from anywhere near Brambridge then.</p><p>“Dratted horse!” One voice exclaims over the unmistakeable sounds of an agitated horse. “It must be the river that has it in a fuss.”</p><p>“The bridge looks sound.” A second voice opines—deep and smooth, Louis notices, and its calm tone in direct contrast to the first’s vexed air.</p><p>“Yes, I have tried to explain that to the horse, Henry, to no avail. Any other suggestions?”</p><p>Beside him, Oli snorts.</p><p>Henry responds with a chuckle. “Perhaps we might coax him over with a treat?”</p><p>"Have you got any left?" Comes the impatient reply. “The beast has eaten a hole through my pocket already.”</p><p>“Your generous heart will be your downfall, Sam,” Henry answers, amusement plain in his voice. “Let me check.”</p><p>As they round the corner, once past a sweet briar bush, the two Englishmen on the bridge come into view, along with their pair of riding horses—one of them tossing its head and dancing nervously in place, not willing to move forward, while the other stands patiently to a side.</p><p>Oli makes an amused noise low in his throat, and Louis breathes out a quiet laugh. “I reckon they could use your help.”</p><p>“Guess so.” Reaching into the saddle bag Oli pulls out a handful of small, tart apples. “Turnip could probably take you home on her own,” he tells him—an offer—while the horse lips at his hand for an apple.</p><p>Louis clutches at the reins—while Turnip is as docile as they come, he doesn’t have as much trust in her as Oli does, nor is he inclined to leave Oli with these strangers. “I’ll wait for you,” he answers decisively. </p><p>He watches Oli approach the men, calling out to get their attention. “Maybe I can help? I’m a good hand with horses.” </p><p>“Is that so?” Sam replies, skeptical and brusque, grappling with the nervous horse.</p><p>“I’ve got some apples at least, and that goes a long way,” Oli retorts.</p><p>Louis bites back a grin, but cannot hold it in for long at the sound of Henry’s laugh—his good spirits are contagious.</p><p>“By all means then.”</p><p>Once Sam relinquishes the reins to him, it doesn’t take Oli long to get the horse under control and across the bridge. He leads the stallion over to Louis, Henry walking his horse a step behind with Sam at his side. </p><p>Louis takes notice of Henry’s arresting figure: his bearing proud but unaffected, he stands a few inches taller than his companion, and broader in the chest and shoulders. There is enough moonlight to reveal strong, handsome features, when he walks up to greet him. </p><p>“Good evening.” </p><p>On reflex he reaches up with quick, nervous fingers to tuck the hair over his forehead under his cap. “Evening. How do you do?”</p><p>Henry stares at him for a long moment before seeming to shake himself out of his daze and reaching for his hand. He bends over it and presses his lips to the back of his knuckles.</p><p>“It’s a pleasure…” he murmurs.</p><p>“Louis—” he supplies, automatically responding to Henry’s unspoken question. His voice, naturally high pitched, goes even higher in shock at the gesture—there is nothing that could confuse Henry and lead him to think Louis merits such a courtesy. “Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson.” </p><p>Henry only inclines his head again with a warm smile before turning to shake Oli’s hand. “Thank you, good man.”</p><p>“Yes, we’re very grateful.” Sam offers his hand to Oli as well, and though his tone is curt, it is also sincere. “And will be even more grateful if you could you direct us to the inn. We need a place to stay for the night.”</p><p>“Inn?” Oli snorts.</p><p>“It’s only pedlars who come around these parts,” Louis explains, soothing a restless Turnip, who is obviously eager for food and rest. “And they camp out, or sleep in a barn, most often.”</p><p>“There’s no inn then.” Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. </p><p>“I’m afraid not.” He hesitates for a second before asking: “What brings you here, may I ask?” </p><p>“An old friend,” Henry answers vaguely. “Is there anywhere we might stay? We are ready to pay, of course.”</p><p>Oli glances at Louis, who dithers before signalling his agreement with a shrug. “Our master was looking for boarders,” Oli tells them.</p><p>“Perfect. Please, lead the way.” </p><p>While Henry agrees at once, Sam gives them a searching look before finally nodding. “Much obliged.” </p><p>“It’s not far, we might as well walk.” Keeping his hold on the fractious horse, Oli starts walking, giving Turnip a nudge to get her moving as well. “You’ve driven your horses hard,” he adds, disapproval clear in his tone, casting them a sidelong look.</p><p>“Not hard, but long,” Henry admits. “We were impatient to get here.” </p><p>Louis exchanges another curious look with Oli—what could possibly bring them to Brambridge of all places in such a hurry?</p><p>“We also miscalculated, and feared having to spend the night out on the road.”</p><p>“Where do you hail from?” Louis cannot help but ask. Confined to the village, he is fascinated by anything coming from outside Brambridge, even as far as the next hamlet or town. </p><p>“We procured these horses in Fennick. But we started out from Portsmouth, where our ship put in,” Henry explains.</p><p>“You were at sea?” Louis asks in wonder.</p><p>“For the last eight months,” Sam adds on to Henry’s hum of agreement. “I am not sure Mrs Claflin will forgive me not going straight to her and the boys.” </p><p>Henry offers him a crooked, apologetic grin. “I have always been a bad influence.”</p><p>“Truer words never spoken,” Sam deadpans, but he’s obviously biting back a smile of his own. </p><p>“I’ll cut across to the stables from here.” Oli holds a hand out for the lead of Henry’s horse. “And take your bags up to the house, after I’ve got the horses settled in.”</p><p>Louis starts in surprise when Henry offers him a hand to help him dismount. Henry’s hand swallows his own, and though he had been aware of the clear height and size difference between them, once standing he feels positively dwarfed next to him. </p><p>He fidgets with his hair again for a second and smooths out his clothes before clearing his throat and waving an arm toward the manor. “Shall we?” </p><p>Oli gives his wrist a squeeze before heading off on his own, and Louis starts on the dirt path to the main entrance. “How should I introduce you?” he asks—the Christian names they had overheard would not suffice.</p><p>“Commander Henry Thomas Creswell and Lieutenant Samuel George Claflin, from the His Majesty's Ship, Fearless.”</p><p>“Royal Navy?” Louis breathes in astonishment, wondering yet again what these men are doing in a small village in the north of England. “Alright. Just a moment, please.”</p><p>Leaving them at the door with some regret, he hurries to the back of the house to the servants’ entrance. He finds Ann sat at the table in the kitchen, in the process of wiping her plate clean with a chunk of bread.</p><p>“There you are.” She greets him around a mouthful. “Don’t think you’ve wriggled out of all the work. I’ve left you some washing up to do, and you can catch up tomorrow, make no mistake about that.” </p><p>Louis glances at the pile of dirty pots and pans and crockery and swallows back a sigh. The excitement of meeting Henry and Sam had energised him, but it was a fleeting rush, whereas the weariness runs bone deep.</p><p>“I wasn’t shirking my duties here, I was helping out at the farm,” he defends himself dispassionately, knowing it won’t make any difference to Ann. </p><p>“And now you can help me out in the kitchen.”</p><p>Louis lets out a short sigh and no more—there’s no point in arguing. “We’ve got guests.” </p><p>That gets her attention. “What?” </p><p>“Two officers from the Royal Navy. They need a place to stay.” </p><p>Ann heaves herself to her feet, wiping reddened hands on a worn apron. “Have they had any dinner? I’ll fix them something to eat. You need to prepare the guest rooms. Hurry now.”</p><p>She snaps her fingers at him before reaching into a cupboard for clean plates. “Go on at once—Mr Snyder and the mistress are in the parlour, introduce the gentlemen so you may let them in.”</p><p>Louis hurries down the corridor and up the stairs, but slows down as he nears the parlor, wincing at the furious voices he can hear through the closed door. Steeling himself, he gives a firm knock and opens the door as soon as the argument peters out. “Mr Snyder, sir?” he says in clipped tones—the humiliation of having to address him as such has not got any easier with time—taking a single step inside. </p><p>John Snyder stares down at him from where he stands by the fireplace. He stalks when he gets mad, Louis knows. There are no books or ornaments cast upon the floor, however, which means the argument had not escalated to a fight, at least.</p><p>“What do you want?” he demands, smoothing back a sweat damp lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead with the palm of his hand. It only serves to draw attention to his steeply receding hairline, usually hidden beneath his powdered wig.</p><p>Reclined in the settee, Catherine Snyder shoots Louis a baleful look. “Well? Speak.”</p><p>Her pinched expression quickly morphs to amazement when he tells them about the officers. </p><p>In a moment she is on her feet and ushering him out of the room. Obviously meaning to be overheard, she berates him in a loud voice as she opens the front door to their guests. “What were you thinking, leaving the gentlemen at the door, like beggars!?” Louis doesn’t miss her double take as she takes in the two handsome men, one hand rising to her chest in surprise. “Welcome, come in, please,” she simpers, giving the neckline of her dress a minute tug to show her bosom to maximum advantage.</p><p>Thinking he has managed to slip away unnoticed during the exchange of pleasantries, Louis is caught by surprise when he glances up as Catherine is leading the pair up the stairs to the parlour, and he makes eye contact with Henry, who was looking back at him. </p><p>It disconcerts him, leaves heat staining his cheeks even as he gathers fresh bedding and toiletries for the guest rooms. Sound carries from the parlour as he prepares the first room: long winded introductions and small talk that reaches him but doesn’t quite register beyond John’s grasping, unsubtle hints that Snyder hospitality is not free of charge.</p><p>“I’m sure we can… reach some kind of agreement,” he pronounces at the mention of Henry and Sam boarding at the house for a few days.</p><p>“Undoubtedly,” Henry replies drily.</p><p>“And what is it that brings you to Brambridge?” Catherine asks.</p><p>“Sightseeing.” Louis raises his eyebrows at the unexpected answer. He is certain Henry had said an old friend was their reason for visiting. “We’ve spent a number of years at sea and needed a change in scenery.”</p><p>There’s an awkward pause—while picturesque, it is difficult to believe a man of the world would ever choose Brambridge as a destination for sightseeing.</p><p>“I see,” Catherine says at last, neutrally.</p><p>His curiosity is no match for his exhaustion, at this point, however, and the thought of the mountain of dishes in the kitchen has Louis abandoning his eavesdropping and rushing to finish up. But running into Ann in the corridor as she brings up some refreshment for their guests, she orders him to bring upstairs the bags Oli had dropped off before heading home.</p><p>Although it turns out Henry and Sam are travelling surprisingly light, Louis still struggles with the bags, his arms sore from the farm work. </p><p>Stealing a moment to rest his aching muscles before going back downstairs, he catches a new question in Catherine’s on-going interrogation. “Are the gentlemen married? ”  </p><p>“No,” Henry answers, amusement in his voice. “Only good friends.”  </p><p>“To the chagrin of my long suffering wife, as a matter of fact.” </p><p>When Henry laughs, but once again makes no mention of any spouse of his own, Louis perks up in spite of himself. Then promptly chastises himself as he hurries downstairs to do the washing up—it makes no difference whether Henry is married or not, as they are leagues apart and all Henry can ever want from Louis is a tumble. </p><p>It had been a long time since Louis had lain with a man—at first too heartbroken, and later too tired even if he had been interested. Thinking of Henry now, however, he feels stirrings he hadn’t in years. </p><p>As he is scrubbing out the last pot, he suddenly remembers the missing towels in one of the guest rooms. “Shit.”</p><p>With a burst of adrenaline he sprints upstairs, towels in hand. Having lost track of time doing the washing up it doesn’t occur to him to think he might have retired for the night, therefore he is completely unprepared for the sight that meets him when he throws open the door: Henry, shirtless, face and chest wet, dripping facecloth still in hand.</p><p>Henry turns to him with an easy smile. “Perfect timing.”</p><p>Louis tracks a droplet of water all the way down his chest, taking in the defined muscles and abundant dark hair that trails down to the waistline of his breeches. His eyes snap back to Henry’s face, and he holds out the towel, blushing. “Sorry. I’m sorry it was late.”</p><p>“Like I said: just in time. Thank you, Louis.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but his smile is soft when Louis glances up at him, surprised at hearing his given name. </p><p>“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks automatically, then falters when he realises how that might be interpreted, extremely aware all of a sudden of how close they are standing, and Henry half undressed. Eyes widening and face heating up further, he takes a quick step back. “I mean—” he stammers, fidgeting with the ends of his hair behind one ear.</p><p>Henry holds his hands up in a reassuring gesture, and though there’s a hint of a grin on his face, his expression is earnest. “I’ll be going straight to bed—it’s been rather a long day. And our arrival made it longer for you, I’m afraid. I do apologise for that.”</p><p>“It’s a nice change of pace, to have visitors,” he answers honestly. “Even if it’s more work,” he adds, daring to tease, gratified when Henry chuckles in response. </p><p>“That is a relief,” he replies, making Louis giggle into the back of his hand, fingers curled into his palm. </p><p>He is torn between self consciousness and rare thrill when he catches the marvelling look on Henry’s face as he stares at him. He isn’t that unused to receiving admiring attention, but given the small pool of available suitors in the village, not from men he is so desperately attracted to himself.</p><p>Bashful and uncertain, Louis collects himself and makes a quick retreat. “Good night, Cmdr Creswell,” he says in a rush, and is out the door before Henry can answer. </p><p>The moment he reaches his room, he locks the door behind him and leans against the closed door, releasing a long breath, palms pressed to his hot cheeks. For a minute he teeters between an anxious frown and breaking into a grin, before he collects himself and gets to bed.</p><p>—</p><p>“What are you doing?” Ann barks at him right as he has finally sat down to break his fast.</p><p>Although he is up with the sun, Louis doesn’t get to eat until he is done with his extensive morning chores, and after Catherine and John have had their own breakfast, which Louis must help prepare. </p><p>The couple usually sleep through the routine cleaning and preparations for the day, but that morning Louis heard noises from the guest rooms while he worked. Nevertheless, no one surfaced until Ann served breakfast: coffee and tea, rolls, butter, and preserves. </p><p>Spreading the leftover butter onto his piece of bread, he frowns at her in confusion. “What?” </p><p>“The gentlemen requested a servant to help them today—I don’t know with what. They must be waiting for you already.”</p><p>It takes Louis a moment to process the meaning of her words. “And John agreed?” he asks, stunned.</p><p>Ann raises an eyebrow at him. “Of course Mr Snyder agreed.” With a huff, she plonks a sack of flour onto the table to sift for baking. “What’s the face for? I’m the one who will have to manage on my own while you’re larking about.”</p><p>Peering into his mug, tea now sprinkled with flour, Louis presses his lips together in a thin line. Ann ignores him.</p><p>“Go on already. And you best hurry back when they’re done with you,” she adds, sifter pointed at him threateningly.</p><p>After a last careful sip of tea, Louis grabs his jacket and heads outside, tearing into the bread with his teeth as he pulls on his coat. </p><p>The sun is warmer now in the late morning, but he runs cold, and it calms his nerves to bundle up. As he walks around to the front door, a mongrel that hangs around the property trots up to him, sniffing hopefully. </p><p>Louis pats his head with a smile, and seeing no sign of Henry or Sam, lowers himself onto the doorstep, breaking off a piece of his roll to feed the dog. He is laughing from Barley nosing at his middle in search of crumbs when the door opens behind him.</p><p>“Good morning.” Louis jumps to his feet, brushing any potential crumbs off his shirt and nervously smoothing out wrinkles.</p><p>“Morning, morning. Here we are,” Sam says briskly. He eyes the dog with a friendly eye as it approaches him, too eager for a treat to be wary. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you, boy.”</p><p>“Is he yours?” Henry smiles at Louis even as he crouches to give Barley an energetic rub, to the dog’s evident satisfaction.</p><p>“Oh, no. We’re on good terms, but… he’s his own. As you can see,” he concludes with a short laugh when the dog, having ascertained none of them have anything more to offer to eat, bolts. </p><p>Henry laughs, shaking his head, before straightening. “Even in such excellent company, I hope we didn’t keep you waiting long.”</p><p>In the daylight, Louis can now make out his eyes, shadowed by a strong brow, are a deeper blue than Louis’ own.</p><p>Adjusting the collar of his coat, Louis eyes him a little warily. “It is my job to wait on you, sir,” he says, carefully proper. Flirting the night before had been a mistake, and he has to pull himself together. “Although I haven’t been told what it is I can do for you…?” </p><p>“Nothing too strenuous,” Henry answers with a small smile. “An old friend sent us on an errand, with… a name, perhaps it is known to you: Whitefield. George Whitefield.”</p><p>Louis blinks in surprise—he hasn’t heard that name in years. “Whitefield Manor isn’t too far from here. It’s been empty for over fifteen years, though.”</p><p>“Can you take us?” Sam asks.</p><p>“If you wish,” he answers, more intrigued than ever about what had brought these unlikely men to the village. “It’s a bit of a walk,” he warns. </p><p>Henry gestures at their surroundings, flashing a grin. “It’s a lovely day.”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>During the walk to the manor house, Henry and Sam ask some general questions about Brambridge—more to fill the silence, Louis can tell, than any real interest. Still, he imagines it would be more awkward if they walked in silence, so he answers, though without much expectation that they are listening attentively. </p><p>When he falters in his explanation about sheep farming, catching sight of a bramble bush heavy with new blackberries, he doesn’t expect Henry to notice, let alone ask if he would like some. </p><p>“For my friend,” he replies truthfully, not without some hesitation. “These are the sweetest berries to be found in the whole of Brambridge.” </p><p>“That’s high praise indeed, in a land of brambles,” he quips. “Can’t let them go to waste, then.”</p><p>“You <em>were</em> listening,” Louis blurts out—immediately wincing at how it comes out almost accusing.</p><p>But Henry’s raised eyebrows are amused, not offended, and his lips quirk as he tries to hold back a smile. “Of course.”</p><p>“Must we stop for this?” Sam grouses, throwing a longing look at the abandoned house, visible now in the near distance.</p><p>“We must.” Henry claps Sam on the shoulder. “The house has stood for fifteen years, it won’t be going anywhere.”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile playing about his lips. “Very well then.”</p><p>“Thank you. It won’t take long.” When Henry offers his arm to Louis, he accepts entirely on automatic, disconcerted by this uncustomary attention. He had expected Henry to wait with Sam, who has found himself a rock to sit on and pulled out a small book. </p><p>“He carries that everywhere,” Henry confides. Then adds, at Louis’ look of continued surprise as he guides them down the grassy slope to the thicket. “How can I pass by a chance at the sweetest berries in all the land?” </p><p>“Well. That’s a wise decision,” Louis says finally, breaking into a small, shy grin, all too aware of his hand on Henry’s arm. </p><p>“Is there a trick to picking them?” Henry asks when they reach the brambles.</p><p>“Only be careful not to squish them, and if they are too hard, leave them,” Louis instructs, as he spreads out his neckerchief.</p><p>“You know the land well.” Henry comments, following his lead picking out berries and dropping them in Louis’ makeshift basket. “Were you born here?”</p><p>“Hm, no, farther north, but my family moved here when I was a child.”</p><p>“Do you… still have family?”</p><p>Louis falters in the picking for a second, downcast, before giving a resigned shrug. “I hope so. Somewhere. My mother left with my little sisters, to find employment. There was no work for her here, but I was offered a position with Mr Snyder’s father. He… had taken quite a liking to me, and gave her a small sum, to help her out.”</p><p>He notices the line between Henry’s eyebrows, the deepening shadow in the corners of his mouth. “I see.”</p><p>“It was a long time ago,” he says, and gathering his courage, encourages Henry to try the berries in his hand. “What about you? Before Portsmouth.”</p><p>Henry’s face smooths out with pleasure as he savours the berries. “Saint Helier. But I’ve not been home for a very long time, since my mother passed.” </p><p>“I’m sorry.” Henry nods, dismissing the subject. “As it is, I’m looking to build a home somewhere else,” he says in a quiet, earnest voice, holding Louis’ gaze as he offers him a few more berries. “A family.”</p><p>Swallowing thickly, Louis manages to tear his eyes away after a long moment to glance down at his napkin. “Oh, We’ve collected quite enough—too many and he’ll get the runs,” he explains in a rush, gratified when Henry barks out a laugh.</p><p>“For you then,” he insists. And Louis cannot resist, though his fingers fumble as he picks out the berries in the palm of Henry’s hand. </p><p>“Thank you.” He suppresses a moan at the burst of sweetness, before continuing: “We should get back, Lt Claflin must be impatient to carry on.” </p><p>Henry’s eyes remain fixed on his lips, which Louis licks on instinct before wiping the corner of his mouth with delicate fingers. </p><p>"You need not worry. Sam has an excellent ability to lose himself in his books," comes the belated reply.</p><p>“Mm. How lucky.” The berries secure in the handkerchief, he starts walking back. “We don’t get a lot of books around here.” </p><p>“That <em>is</em> a pity.” </p><p>“Mr Whitefield used to have some,” Louis lets slip as they rejoin Sam. “He let me read them—as much as I could anyway.” </p><p>“Wait. You knew Whitefield?” Sam cuts in.</p><p>Louis shrug uncomfortably. “For a short while. My mother cooked and cleaned for him, and we helped, until he left.” He cannot help but give them a probing look. “I cannot imagine who gave you his name, and for what purpose. He left nothing behind, and there is little left even of his dwelling.” </p><p>Over the years the house had fallen into disrepair, so that walking up to it now they are met with walls obscured by overgrown climbing flowers, windows gaping open, glass and shutters gone, and even part of the roof caved in toward the back.</p><p>“This is it?” Sam mutters, squinting up at the ruins. </p><p>Stepping inside into thick dust and dirt, mouldering remnants, and trespassing wilderness, the pair set out to explore—Sam’s face twisted in disgust, and Henry looking rather thoughtful. </p><p>Louis leaves the square of cloth containing the berries on a windowsill to avoid squishing them. While wandering around aimlessly, he disturbs a mouse, and discovers a carpet of sweet smelling white and yellow flowers where the floorboards had rotted through.</p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to be looking for something?” </p><p>Raising his head at Sam’s comment, he catches Henry staring at him, and ducks his head, blushing. </p><p>“And what happened to all the furniture?” Sam continues, without waiting for Henry to answer. </p><p>“Would have been a waste to leave it rotting out here,” Louis replies. “There was good wood. And for the rest… the winters are cold.” </p><p>“Right.” Sam looks around, straightening his cravat fastidiously. “Is this it then?”</p><p>“It can’t be.”</p><p>“There’s nothing here, Henry.” </p><p>“He wouldn’t have sent me here if there wasn’t something to be found, Sam. We cannot give up so quickly.” </p><p>Louis starts. “You don’t know what you’re looking for?”</p><p>“Something… valuable. That is all I know,” Henry admits.</p><p>“You guess. You hope,” Sam corrects pointedly.</p><p>As Henry and Sam argue in hushed voices, Louis follows the traces left by the panelling removed from the wall, along the room to the fireplace, feeling out of place. A black, iridescent feather in the mess of the hearth catches his eye, in turn drawing his attention to a hint of metal—an object half buried in the mud and old ash. Curious, he squats to unearth it.</p><p>He digs out some form of medallion, about the size of a pocketwatch, dulled with age and dirt. Wiping it on the front of his breeches reveals a symbol engraved on the grimy metal—one all too familiar. Louis cannot contain a gasp, stomach lurching.</p><p>“Louis?”</p><p>“Did you find something?” </p><p>“Nothing,” he answers immediately, closing his fist around the token and turning his body away from Henry in order to pocket it. “There was a wasp, it startled me.”</p><p>Sam raises his eyebrows, while Henry steps toward him at once.</p><p>“Did it sting you? Are you alright?” He reaches for Louis’ hand to inspect it, turning it between his own larger ones.</p><p>Besides a few spots of purple staining his fingertips from the berries, there is nothing to see. </p><p>“No, it only startled me. I’m fine,” Louis answers, drawing his hand back. He quickly looks away from Henry’s concerned gaze. “Is there anything else I can for you? I have work to do at the house.” </p><p>Sam regards him for a minute, expression torn between curiosity and suspicion. “We can find our way back later,” he says at last. “If we can’t find anything here, we’ll try asking around the village.”</p><p>Louis draws his coat closer around himself—though the day has only warmed, he feels chilled all of a sudden. “I don’t understand, what can you possibly hope to find?”</p><p>Sam snorts. “In all honesty? Money.”</p><p>The abrupt candidness throws him off balance. “There is very little money in this village. And I doubt you’ll find anyone who can tell you anything more than I have about Whitefield: he emigrated, left everything behind,” he burst out, nervous and defensive.</p><p>“Maybe, maybe not.”</p><p>Henry follows him to the front door. “Louis—”</p><p>Louis almost expects him to grab him, to stop him, but he doesn’t. “I have to go.” His voice remains unsteady even when he repeats himself.</p><p>Keeping his head down, he keeps moving forward, putting distance between them, the token burning in his pocket. It’s only when he passes the bramble bush on his way back that he realises he forgot Oli’s berries. He comes to a stop and exhales noisily. “Shit.”</p><p>Torn, Louis looks from the path leading back to John’s house, to the side trail that goes down to the village proper. Though he knows he will pay the price afterwards, he decides to cut across to Jamie’s house instead of going back to work as he should.</p><p>Avoiding the main street, he goes around to Jamie’s work shop, giving a cursory knock on the door, which stands ajar, before slipping inside. </p><p>“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Louis breathes as his eyes fall on the new, elegant violoncello Jamie is just finishing varnishing. </p><p>Jamie smiles, dipping the brush into the varnish again to slide along the curved sides. “A pet project. Snyder is emphatic that he has no interest in finding buyers for musical instruments,” he explains with an edge of bitterness. He points a thumb to a half assembled cabinet. “Wardrobes and cabinets and chairs, that’s what he’ll take up to the city to sell in his store.”</p><p>Louis shakes his head. “He’s a fool.”</p><p>“Always has been,” Jamie agrees. “He will sooner sell the chairs in his own house than give an inch.”</p><p>“It may soon come to that,” Louis reveals in a low voice. “It’s been dire since the fire this winter.”</p><p>Jamie is silent for a moment, focused on his work. “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” he says finally. </p><p>In spite of himself Louis breathes out a faint laugh. It would be easier if John’s increasing financial troubles didn’t put him in a worse mood, but he would rather not mention that to Jamie.</p><p>Setting down the brush, Jamie places a companiable hand on his shoulder as he rises to his feet. “You don’t usually come by so early, is everything alright?”</p><p>“I’m not certain,” he answers in a whisper, avoiding his eyes. </p><p>Jamie’s fingers tighten on his shoulder reassuringly. “Come on, I can use a break.” </p><p>Jamie’s wife is pottering about in the kitchen when they enter the house. “Hello, dear,” she greets Louis, pausing in cutting up some chicken. </p><p>“Good morning, Ruth, how are you?” </p><p>“Good, good. And you?”</p><p>“Just fine, thank you,” he replies with a weak smile. Though her lingering look suggests skepticism at his answer, she doesn’t ask anything more but: "Something to drink?"</p><p>“If it’s not too much trouble,” Jamie agrees readily, leading Louis over to the other side of the room to take a seat by the window. </p><p>“Of course not. Grace will bring it over in a moment—won’t you, dear?” she entreats her twelve year old daughter. “But do keep an eye on James, husband? Louis?” </p><p>“With pleasure.” He holds out his arms, offering the three year old boy a warm smile as he toddles over. Sitting him on his lap, Louis settles himself on a chair with a tired sigh.  </p><p>Jamie reaches over to run a hand over his son’s hair before tweaking his nose, earning a giggle. Louis knows he is waiting for him to be ready to speak—he knows to let him work it out in his own time. </p><p>Grace brings them mugs of watered beer and a pickled egg for each. “Uncle Louis?” she asks after he’s thanked her and taken a careful sip with an arm around James. </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Are the strangers very handsome?”</p><p>“What?” he sputters with a confused breath of laughter at the unexpected question.</p><p>“George says they must be, to be officers in the Royal Navy, but I think they can’t <em>all</em> be handsome.”</p><p>“What’s this about?” Jamie asks, plainly lost. “Officers from the Royal Navy?”</p><p>With a short exhalation through his nose, Louis nods. “They arrived last night and are boarding at the house. How did you find out?” he asks Grace. </p><p>“Ms Lucas told Isabel’s mother earlier.”</p><p>“What are they doing here?” Jamie makes a face as he reaches for his beer. “In Brambridge of all places.”</p><p>“They won’t say.” Louis puts down his mug, worrying at the wood with his thumb nail. “They asked me to take them to Whitefield’s old house. I just came from there.” His voice grows quiet, awareness of what he had found there returning full force.</p><p>Ever observant, Jamie gives his daughter a quick smile. “Can you take James for a bit, sweetie? I’ve got some business to talk over with Louis.”</p><p>Though grumbling under her breath that she hadn’t received an answer, Grace gathers the toddler into her arms, tempting him with a wooden sheep figurine when he fusses, not wanting to leave Louis.</p><p>His whining draws Ruth’s attention, and following a silent exchange with Jamie, she wipes her hands on a dish rag and beckons to her daughter. “Come, a spot of fresh air will calm him down, and I could use your help…”</p><p>“Did something happen at Whitefield’s?” Jamie asks in a low voice as soon as the family have stepped  “Did they… say anything to you, hurt you?” he adds, brows furrowed in concern. </p><p>“No, no, they were perfectly courteous,” Louis assures him, a corner of his mouth twitching in thanks when Jamie pushes his beer toward him again. “It’s only…” After a fortifying sip, he sets down the mug with a trembling hand and reaches in his pocket for the token. “I found something, in the house.”</p><p>Jamie inspects the medallion, handling it with care. “That symbol…” </p><p>Louis pulls up his left sleeve to bare his forearm, where the same symbol is branded on his skin. “Yes,” he confirms, his voice shaking.</p><p>He nods, expression grim. “It’s faded, hasn’t it?” he asks after a moment with a quirked eyebrow. </p><p>“Mhm. More and more each day. It’s scarring,” he whispers through the sudden lump in his throat—he wishes it would disappear entirely.</p><p>“And you think, this is what those men are looking for?” Jamie continues, scrutinising the medallion again. </p><p>“What else?” Louis pulls down his sleeve to his fingertips. “I don’t know what it means. Why would Whitefield have this? What can they do with it?” He drops his voice again. “And what can <em>she</em> do to <em>them</em>?” </p><p>Jamie hands the token back gravely. “It… could be a coincidence.”</p><p>Louis runs a thumb over the engraved metal surface of the token again before returning it to his pocket. “Do you really believe that?”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Jamie admits. His hand finds Louis’ shoulder again. “What are you going to do with it?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Louis sighs, rubbing between his eyebrows against a mounting headache. </p><p>He had taken the thing on impulse, frightened and protective at once, and now there was a responsibility on his shoulders: to knowingly withhold, or to hand it over—and how much should he explain, if he did? His ruminations are interrupted by James barrelling into the room, shouting for his father’s attention, eager to show the snail he had collected outside.</p><p>Louis grimaces through a laugh when he holds it up for him to admire as well. “Well look at what you found!” he gushes. “Maybe papa wants to hold it.”</p><p>Jamie narrows his eyes at him even as he accepts the snail, causing Louis to laugh.</p><p>“Thank goodness for a bit of sun,” Ruth remarks as she steps inside with some clean, dried diaper cloths. “It’s sure to rain again soon, but while it lasts. Check to see if the dough’s risen, please, Grace, dear.”</p><p>After giving James a light tickle Louis rises to his feet.  “I should get back, or Ann will have my hide.”</p><p>As much as he would like to give in to Ruth’s entreaties that he eat lunch with them, he has to insist on leaving. He can’t depend on Henry and Sam covering for him, and he is bound to get into trouble otherwise.</p><p>“You’ll be alright?” Jamie asks him at the door.</p><p>“I expect so,” he answers wryly. “Don’t worry about me.”</p><p>“You know you can always come over.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>Back at work, the mindless chores allow his anxiety to build up again, weighing him down on top of his habitual fatigue. </p><p>It is past lunch time when Catherine and Ann return to the house. Louis knows at once from the slam of the door that Catherine is in a mood. Like John she has explosive bouts of bad temper. </p><p>“I’ve never been so insulted in my life. How dare she suggest I would prefer a cheaper ribbon—I’ve had dresses made in London!” Her voice is shrill as she storms up the stairs to her room, Ann’s heavier step following at her heels. </p><p>He continues with his work, tuning out the noises from upstairs until Ann comes down a short while later. </p><p>“Christ, Louis, you still haven’t finished here? Did the guests keep you long?” </p><p>“Yes, all morning,” he lies. </p><p>She harrumphs, her expression leaving no doubt she doesn’t quite believe him. “Well I need your help with dinner, so hurry up.” </p><p>Louis rolls his eyes at her retreating form, but rushes to finish up the cleaning in the drawing room. In his haste sweeping the fireplace, his hand slips, raining ash on the carpet. He drops the brush with a gasp. “Shit, shit, shit.” </p><p>Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he scans the room for a solution, finally settling on carefully moving the fireplace tool set over the stain on the carpet before hurrying to the kitchen. </p><p>As Louis is mashing a bowl of turnips and Ann cutting out gristle from the cooked meat for dinner, John arrives. The sound of his horse coming right up to the front door is familiar, and yet it still makes his heartbeat speed up in alarm.</p><p>“Go fetch water for the master to wash,” Ann orders. “The mash will keep. Go on.”</p><p> </p><p>The sun has dipped below the horizon by the time he starts his return from the water pump, laden with two buckets. Focused on the aching strain in his arms and shoulders, he doesn’t notice Henry coming up behind him, and the sound of his voice startles him badly. Water spills over from one bucket, drenching his shoe, and the other bucket slips from his grasp and empties out in a matter of seconds.</p><p>“I… I am so sorry, Louis.” When Henry bends down to pick up the bucket, Louis snatches it from his hand, wanting to get mad—but Henry sounds so sincere, and he isn’t that kind of person. “Please forgive me.”</p><p>“It was an accident, there is nothing to forgive,” he says wearily, already turning around to head back to the water pump. </p><p>To his surprise, Henry follows him. “Louis—”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’ll get you whatever you need as soon as I get back, but I must fetch this water first.”</p><p>“No, I… I wanted to talk to you, as a matter of fact.” </p><p>“To me?” Louis stops to peer at Henry in confusion, before remembering the medallion he had secreted in his room. His mouth dries up with nerves, and he quickly drops his eyes.</p><p>“Yes. May I walk with you?”</p><p>With a wordless nod, Louis starts walking again. </p><p>“We couldn’t find anything, after you left,” Henry tells him. </p><p>“Mm. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Henry hums. “We inquired around town, but no one was able to tell us more about Whitefield than you.”</p><p>Louis shrugs his shoulders up to his ears. “It’s been a long time. I barely remember him either.” </p><p>“Anything you can remember might be useful.”</p><p>“I don’t understand what you want from me,” Louis says tersely when they reach the pump. He busies himself filling the buckets again, avoiding Henry’s eyes. “You don’t even know what you’re looking for, you said.”</p><p>Met with silence, Louis glances up and finds Henry looking at him intently.</p><p>“Not quite, no,” he admits finally. “But I know there must be something. Whitefield sent me himself to look for it before he died, to help his family.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Louis asks, buckets at his feet. </p><p>“Whitefield was a good man, but he had a weakness, and that was gambling. And like any gambling man, he hoped always at the next port to win his losses back,” Henry explains in a low, earnest voice. “It was no different this time, except he fell ill… and died, before we could reach land.” Henry sighs heavily. “His family will have to assume his debts, which are no mean sum.”</p><p>Louis stares at him in consternation. “So they have lost him, and will be left destitute?”</p><p>“I will do everything in my power to help, and I am hopeful the situation is not quite so dire. But I had hoped to find something here that could help.” Expression grave, he pierces Louis with a meaningful look. “I entreat you, if you know anything, to speak.”</p><p>“I… I—” </p><p>Although he senses no anger in Henry, in spite of his evident suspicions, he is afraid that might change when he admits to having taken the medallion. He knows John, ever quick to anger, would not be sympathetic—in fact, he will be furious if Louis takes any longer to get the water up to the house. </p><p>He bends down to pick up the buckets, fighting back a sudden urge to cry, tired and overwhelmed. “I must go. Meet me tonight, after everyone has retired to bed. By the bridge, where we first met.”</p><p>Apparently not expecting his response, Henry stares at him for a second before inclining his head. “Thank you.”</p><p>Louis nods in return, reaching for the bucket handles—and is caught totally off guard when Henry grabs hold of them instead. “What are you doing?”</p><p>Henry’s mouth curves in a lopsided grin. “<em>Trying</em> to help you with that.”</p><p>Louis blinks, flabbergasted. “You don’t have to—”</p><p>“I want to. This is too heavy for you,” he replies, matter of fact.</p><p>“I’m stronger than I look,” Louis argues weakly. </p><p>“I’m sure… But I am as strong as I look, and I can carry this with ease, there’s no need for you to struggle.” With a gentle tug Henry secures his hold on the buckets. “And I did make you spill it earlier. It seems only fair,” he concludes, raising a playful eyebrow. </p><p>“Well… thank you,” Louis stammers, flustered, and follows him as he starts on toward the house.</p><p>It’s strange walking back with his hands free, Henry a step ahead of him, walking as though one unburdened. Louis cannot help but admire his muscled arms and broad back, and remember the glimpse he had caught of Henry undressed. </p><p>“I’ll take them in, thank you.” Louis stops Henry before he carries on straight into the kitchen. “There may be trouble otherwise,” he urges, and takes hold of the handles the second Henry puts the buckets down. “I’ll see you tonight then,” he says in one breath, then rushes inside, wobbling under the weight of the water. </p><p>“What took you so long?” Ann berates him the second he steps inside. </p><p>“I tripped.”</p><p>She clucks her tongue, shaking her head. “Useless.” Then, after considering him for a minute, hands him a wooden spoon. “I’ll take it to him,” she pronounces finally, and quickly stalls his thanks, snapping: “Yes, you owe me. Now watch the stew, and ready everything to serve dinner. I already set the table, since you were taking so long.”</p><p>Famished, Louis steals a taste of the stew while she takes John a basin of water, but it does nothing to dull his hunger. It persists through dinner, while preparing the bedrooms and doing the dishes—right up until he can sit down for something to eat. Without any more distractions and as the hour of meeting Henry draws nearer, his appetite takes a plunge, however.</p><p>His stomach in knots, Louis is picking at his food when a knock on the door startles him. He jumps to his feet. “Lt Claflin, did you need—” He breaks off as the room spins for a second, and he has to clutch the edge of the table, ears ringing. “—anything? You didn’t have to come down here. There is a bell in every room.”</p><p>John and Catherine never set foot in the kitchen. </p><p>“Are you quite alright?”</p><p>“I’m fine. I stood up too fast, nothing more.” </p><p>Taking notice of the half eaten meal on the table, Sam studies him with a small frown. “I should perhaps mention I am in fact a naval surgeon. If you are…” he begins awkwardly. He clears his throat, and his voice softens. “If you are in any sort of<em> trouble</em>, you need not fear any judgement from me.”</p><p>Louis blinks as he processes what is being implied. “Oh.” He flushes, though he is touched—an unmarried servant with child could not generally expect such understanding. “Thank you. But, it’s not anything like that,” he says quickly. “I’m only a bit tired.”</p><p>Sam regards him closely for a long moment before finally nodding. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m afraid the fireplace in my room has not been banked for the night.”</p><p>“Fuck,” he blurts out, then claps a hand to his mouth. “Sorry. I’ll do it right now, sir—”</p><p>“I can do it myself. You should… go,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows with significance. “I am only in need of the necessary tools.”</p><p>Grimacing, Louis glances at the fireplace tools he had brought down from the guest room to clean earlier, and then forgotten.</p><p>“Will those do?” Sam asks, taking a step toward them.</p><p>Louis hesitates. “I should take care of it—” </p><p>“I can manage. You finish eating, and then go on,” he insists. “I’ll let Henry know.”</p><p>After gulping down his meal, Louis hurries to his room to collect the medallion: he overhears them talking in Sam’s room, but cannot make out the words.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a clear night, though everything is wet after a quick rainfall during dinner time. Louis walks out to the midpoint on the bridge, rubbing his arms over his coat as he looks out toward the village, the houses dark for the most part, except an odd flicker of candle or firelight.</p><p>“Louis.”</p><p>He turns at the sound of his name, stomach knotted with nerves again as Henry walks over to him, cravat untied and coat draped over one arm.</p><p>“I’m sorry to keep you up, Sam said you are unwell? Would you not rather sit inside?” </p><p>“Oh. I’m fine, honestly,” he replies, self conscious, pulling his sleeves over his knuckles. “And I’d rather not risk anyone overhearing us.” </p><p>“I see.” Henry looks him over dubiously for a second, then waves an arm in invitation. “Come, let us at least sit down, you’ve been on your feet all day, haven’t you.” With a hand spread on the small of his back, he nudges Louis toward a smooth bit of the parapet to take a seat. </p><p>Shocked at both the intimate touch and his unexpected thoughtfulness—from a stranger, and above his station—he allows himself to be led. Once perched on the parapet, the sudden feeling of a drop behind him has him looking over his shoulder and instinctively latching onto Henry’s arm. </p><p>“I won’t let you fall,” Henry assures him, voice solemn and smile soft. Shocking Louis further, he drapes his coat over him.</p><p>It occurs to him that perhaps Henry’s style is not intimidation, but persuasion. “You must really want this,” he murmurs ruefully. </p><p>Henry gives a small shake of his head. “That’s not why,” he says simply, leaving Louis round eyed and speechless. “But this is a matter beyond me, and anything you know may be of help.” </p><p>Louis releases his breath in a long sigh. “I don’t know how much help this can be.” He reaches for the medallion in his pocket and holds it out. “You must be careful. It’s dangerous.”</p><p>Instead of taking the medallion from him, Henry grips his wrist loosely, rubbing soothingly at the thin, sensitive skin with his thumb as he examines it. “I… have no idea what this is, if I’m honest,” he says after a moment.</p><p>Slipping his hand out of the loose hold, he folds the token into Henry’s palm. “There’s a place up in the hills; if you go there with this… <em>she</em> will come.” In an absent, nervous gesture he reaches out to do and undo the top button of Henry’s waistcoat. “I don't know what to call her, or what she calls herself. She isn't a person… I don't think. I only know that she can give you anything you want… for a price.” </p><p>He raises his eyes to Henry, spreading his trembling hand on his chest. “There’s always a price. Think carefully before agreeing to anything,” he whispers. “She has powerful magic.” </p><p>Though Henry nods, expression solemn, it is obvious he does not—cannot—understand. After slipping the medallion into an inside pocket, he reaches for Louis’ clasped hands, now limp on his lap. “Did something… happen to you?” he asks gently. </p><p>Louis stares at Henry’s large, strong hands holding his own, then shakes his head. “We should get back.” he says with a soft sigh—all the tiredness he had been holding back catching up with him suddenly.</p><p>Henry steadies him with a hand on his waist as he hops down from the parapet, but refuses to take his coat back. “Keep it, at least until we reach the house.” </p><p>“Thanks.” Louis is too tired to argue. It’s of fine quality and smells rich and comforting, like a wood fire.</p><p>“I am sorry to have upset you with… all this,” Henry says quietly when they reach the front door. </p><p>“It’s not your fault.” Louis offers him a small smile. “You’re just trying to do the right thing.” </p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“I’ll draw you a map, to where she can be found,” he tells Henry as they step inside. “When will you go?” He has never drawn a map but in his life. However, he has a peculiar certainty about being able to give directions, an inexplicable connection through his own experience, and the mark on his skin perhaps. </p><p>“Tomorrow morning, if we might.” </p><p>“I’ll have it ready.”</p><p>At the foot of the staircase inside, Louis shrugs off the coat and hands it over. “Good night, Commander.”</p><p>“Good night,” Henry echoes, delayed. </p><p>Louis can feel him staring as he walks down the corridor, until he rounds the corner toward his room.</p><p>—</p><p>Despite his exhaustion, Louis doesn’t get much sleep, waking up earlier than usual to draw the map, prepare a quick breakfast, and pack some lunch for Sam and Henry; while Oli prepares their horses before heading out to his work in the fields.</p><p>Sam is sceptical as he inspects the map. “Will this be enough?” </p><p>“We're seamen, navigation on land is not our forte,” Henry quips, drawing a faint smile out of Louis. </p><p>“And we don’t know the area, nor do the horses.” His hand tight around the reins, Sam shoots his restless horse a disgruntled look.</p><p>Louis gives a helpless shrug. “I don’t think I can do any better.” </p><p>“We can figure it out, I’m sure.” Snatching the map from Sam’s hand, Henry bends over his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Get back inside, it’s a cold morning,” he whispers, before turning away to mount his horse, and join Sam to ride out.</p><p>“Be careful,” Louis calls, but they are out of ear shot by the time he does.</p><p> </p><p>Henry and Sam stay on his mind as he works through his chores. In the afternoon, he hears a shouting match from the master bedroom while he is cleaning out the carpets in the guest rooms.</p><p>“If I hadn’t agreed to marry you, you would have nothing. And now you want to cut my spending!?” Catherine shrieks. </p><p>“Do you think you could have done better, at your age and childless?” John retorts.</p><p>Not that either of them had ever wanted children, Louis knows for a fact; and he is thankful a child had not been brought into such a household.</p><p>“Better off than you would!” </p><p>“You foolish woman. Making a fuss about ribbons when I’ll be selling your <em>dresses</em> next—they will still fetch a decent sum.” </p><p>“You wouldn’t dare.” Catherine’s voice lowers dangerously. “It’s <em>my</em> property, John. You cannot.”</p><p>“Everything yours is mine, dear,” he sneers. “And what do you expect me to do? The incident with the wares, the fire, the robbery last month… There is no money, Catherine. Not for ribbons; not for anything, soon enough, if things continue like this.”</p><p>A tense, pregnant silence follows John’s statement. </p><p>Louis had suspected, of course—months of a decreasing budget for certain household necessities, and several items gone missing, off to be sold—but he hadn’t known the situation was that urgent.</p><p>“I’m going for a ride. Get this tidied up, will you?” John growls. </p><p>At the sound of his thunderous footsteps advancing down the corridor, Louis darts across the room to where he won’t be visible when John goes past the open door, his heart pounding.</p><p>Catherine doesn’t surface in the time Louis finishes with the bedrooms, and moves on to the drawing room. With Ann collecting the laundry outside, he cannot help but be drawn to the harpsichord, wistfully playing a few chords, one handed, still holding the cloth for polishing in his other hand.</p><p>“<em>That</em> will actually be the next thing to go.” He jumps at Catherine’s soft venomous voice at the door. “Before my dresses.” Though he quickly steps away from the instrument, she stalks over to him, expression thunderous. “You think I don’t know you were listening? You think I don’t know you play when I’m not in the house? I know everything that goes on here,” she hisses. </p><p>Before he can step around her, she grips his wrist, digging her nails in. “I know about the ash stain on the carpet. I know what went on between you and John… that you still want him, you whore.”</p><p>Louis shakes his head. “You’re wrong—” </p><p>“Shut up. I know about the other women, but I won’t have it in my own house. The only reason he ever looked at you was because you threw yourself at him. He used you and then discarded you,” she spits. “But you still won’t leave. All these years under his boot, and you’re still licking at the sole.”</p><p>“I can’t—” Louis chokes out, wrenching free of her hold. “I can’t.” He physically cannot leave. He wishes he could.</p><p>Straightening, Catherine looks at him contemptuously. “Get out, I can’t stand the sight of you right now.”</p><p>Ann sees him run out of the house, and shouts something at him, but it doesn’t register. Catherine had told him to get out, and Louis <em>needs</em> out. As far as he can go. </p><p> </p><p>Oli jogs over to him the moment he catches sight of him. “What are you doing here? What happened?” he asks urgently, looking him over. “Are you alright?”</p><p>It hadn’t even been a conscious decision, finding Oli—his feet had taken him where he needed to go: to his bosom friend, whose mere company is a comfort.</p><p>“Mhm.” Louis had walked fast, and it’s warm enough that at the hottest time of day he’s sweating and parched.</p><p>“Get over here.” Oli leads him over to the shade of a the barn, sits him on an upturned crate, and fetches him a wooden cup of lukewarm beer. “Did you walk here? What were you thinking?” </p><p>His nose wrinkles as he takes a sip of the beer, but it moistens his mouth and energizes him enough to speak. “Just wanted to see you.”</p><p>Oli makes a noncommittal noise, resting a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”</p><p>“Nothing. Catherine was in a mood. You know how she gets.”</p><p>“What did she say to upset you so?”</p><p>“It’s not that.” Louis’ shoulders slump, his throat tightening as emotion overwhelms him. “I just—It’s been a long time, Oli. I can almost forget sometimes, but now with everything happening—”</p><p>“You mean Creswell and Claflin? Is something going on there?” Oli asks in some confusion.</p><p>In a quavering voice Louis explains their mysterious quest, how he had found the medallion with the familiar symbol in the house, and hidden it, but eventually handed it over to Henry after he told him about their purpose coming to Brambridge.</p><p>“I warned him, told him to be careful, but I didn’t explain.” Palms slotted between his thighs, he knock his knees together nervously. “Maybe I should have explained. I should have told him more. He didn’t really know what he was getting into,” Louis chastises himself.</p><p>Oli rubs his back in his comforting but no nonsense manner. “I’m sure they’re fine. They may not find the place even.” </p><p>That draws Louis out of his stupor. “What? Why? I drew them a map. I can draw a map,” he protests when Oli hums skeptically, teasing. </p><p>“Sure.” Oli shrugs, serious now. “But the land has probably changed, it’s been almost ten years.”</p><p>Frowning, Louis twiddles with a button at the knee of his breeches; he had been so concerned thinking about what might happen when they found the place, he hadn’t even considered that they might not. </p><p>“Maybe they found it,” Oli says after a moment, unconvincingly. </p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re late.” Ann greets him hard eyed and tight lipped, sat at the kitchen table over a bowl of onion soup. “I don’t want to hear it,” she cuts him off before he can get a word out. “We’ll sort things out between us tomorrow. For now get to the dishes—there should be enough water, even.”</p><p>Louis nods and pushes up his sleeves, unprotesting—he has no excuse.</p><p>“Is Hen—Are Cmdr Creswell and Lt Claflin not back?” he asks, surveying the pile of dishes in confusion—the table had only been set for two.</p><p>Ann raises her eyebrows as she downs the last of her beer. “No. There’s some cold ham and bread, if they turn up and demand something to eat,” she tells him as she hands over her plate and cup to be washed. “You had your dinner already, I take it.”</p><p>“I ate at Oli’s.”</p><p>Collecting a pitcher of water for her own use before retiring for the night, Ann harrumphs, then fixes him with a stern look: “I want you up early tomorrow; there’s laundry to be done.”</p><p>Louis hums absently in response, more concerned about the fact that Henry and Sam haven’t returned by now.</p><p>He scrubs at the soup pot until his knuckles ache, and works through the drinking glasses and cutlery with an ear out for the sound of horses, though he knows if they don’t come right up to the house like John, he may not hear them. </p><p>His stomach feels tight with worry by the time he is close to finishing up with the dishes. When a voice calls his name behind him, the plate in his hand almost slips out of his grasp.</p><p>“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.”</p><p>Louis whirls around with a gasp. “You’re back. You’re alright,” he breathes, looking Henry over, only half a question—he seems unharmed, but he knows there may be no physical signs. “And Lt Claflin?” </p><p>“We’re both alright, Louis. Only muddy. And hungry,” Henry replies with clear chagrin. </p><p>“Ms Lucas set aside something for you. Will you have tea?” He reaches for a cloth to wipe and dry his hands, and sets the kettle to boil.</p><p>“Thank you. Something warm would be welcome.” Henry moves closer, standing near while Louis prepares their dinner. </p><p>“I’m sure. It won’t be a moment,” Louis says, glancing up with a soft smile. The wonder in Henry’s gaze makes him blush, and he quickly drops his eyes. He clears his throat, but keeps his focus on slicing the bread. “Did you…?”</p><p>“We wandered for hours, with no luck.”</p><p>Louis stills for a moment, then moves on to cutting up the ham. “I see.”</p><p>“Your map was sound, but in an unknown wilderness, we had trouble following it. It is easier to navigate at sea,” Henry adds in a lighter tone, shooting Louis a grin as he retrieves the kettle.</p><p>“Is it really?” Louis looks up at Henry with raised eyebrows, holding back a smile as he returns to the table to prepare the tea.</p><p>Henry chuckles. “It certainly felt like it, today.”</p><p>Louis breathes out a soft giggle in spite of himself, shaking his head. His amusement is short lived, however, as he thinks of what he must do.</p><p>“I’ll take you to her.” He dreads the thought of going back to that place in the hills, and seeing her again, feeling her magic—but if there is at least a chance of helping a family who are bound to lose everything, he cannot refuse. </p><p>Henry’s surprise is palpable, Louis does not even need to see his face. He continues as he sets out the food and tea on a tray: “It's a day's trip, though. I can't go without John allowing it. You’ll have to ask him. And you’ll need to make something up, you can’t tell him where we’re going.” Pushing the loaded tray toward him, he finally looks up at Henry, swallowing thickly when their eyes meet. </p><p>He gives a short nod. “Louis—” He inches his hand nearer until their fingers brush on the table. “I dont know what happened to you. But I promise we—<em>I</em> will keep you safe.”</p><p>Blinking back sudden emotion, Louis nods jerkily with a tight smile.  “Go on, don’t keep your friend waiting.”</p><p>Henry brushes a thumb over his knuckles. “Why don’t you eat with us? Everyone has retired for the night, haven’t they?” </p><p>Louis tilts his head toward the dishes he has left to do, and slides his hand back to clasp the other against his chest. “I need to finish up here.”</p><p>Henry shrugs. “I could help.”</p><p>An uncertain laugh escapes Louis as he looks Henry over, unsure if he is being mocked.</p><p>“I’m being serious. I’m not entirely hopeless, you know,” Henry says with a crooked grin. “I didn’t start out a commander, I did a lot of dirty work, in my youth.” </p><p>Louis gapes at him for a moment, then shakes his head. “Thank you, but you’re a guest here.” In sudden recklessness, he allows himself to touch, reaching out to give Henry’s forearm a light squeeze. “Go eat. And rest—your day has been long.”</p><p>He doesn’t expect Henry to grab hold of his hand and press a light kiss to the tips of his fingers, even though they are pruned and rough from the washing and scrubbing, and his nails bitten to the quick. </p><p>For a second he seems about to speak, but finally, with another kiss, this time to his knuckles, he simply bids him goodnight. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”</p><p>Blushing at the endearment, Louis stutters out a good night in return. For a minute he stands frozen in place, processing, before getting back to finish his work with a sigh. </p><p> </p><p>Later in bed, his thoughts turn to Henry, his skin tingling with the memory of his lips, and he can’t help but imagine what they would feel like on his own.</p><p>—</p><p>The morning is as hectic as expected, with Ann driving him hard, rushing him through the general cleaning and serving breakfast before they can even get started on laundry. </p><p>Louis is stripping the bedclothes from John and Catherine’s bed, his back to the door, singing softly under his breath as he is wont to do, when he feels him come up behind him. He stiffens automatically, but doesn’t move, knowing that will only bring him closer against John, who has pressed up close.</p><p>“I had an interesting conversation with our guests, during breakfast.”</p><p>His breathing shallow, Louis keeps as still as possible. “Oh?” </p><p>“Creswell and Claflin asked for you—exclusively and expressly,” John explains. “For some nonsense business made up on the spot.”</p><p>Louis’ fingers clench around a fistful of sheet. “Is that what you think?”</p><p>With a tight hold on his upper arm, John forces him to turn around. Though not as physically impressive as Henry, he is still considerably taller and bigger than Louis, and his grip is bruising. “I know what you’re doing,” he snarls.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis replies unsteadily.</p><p>John scoffs. “I remember the date as well as you do, Louis. You think I’m not aware that these accidents that have been plaguing me for months are not a coincidence? The fire at the store, the robbery, the ship lost at sea—” He gives Louis’ arm a sudden yank and tugs his sleeve up roughly to expose the fading mark on his forearm. “Time’s almost up,” he says in a hush.</p><p>Louis tries to shake himself free without success. "It’s not my doing and I can’t fix it.” </p><p>“And you wouldn’t if you could, would you? You’d have me grovelling, in the dirt.” </p><p>“As you’ve had <em>me</em> all these years?” Louis flings back, trembling with contained emotion.</p><p>John spins him around again without warning, twisting his arm behind his back and gripping his jaw to hold him in place. “Whatever fantasies you’ve built up in your head—it’s not going to happen,” he warns, breath hot and damp in his ear. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”</p><p>“Let go of me,” Louis whispers, his breathing hitching.</p><p>John’s grip on his arm loosens, but only enough that Louis’ shoulder and elbow are no longer screaming in pain. “You will assist Creswell and Claflin tomorrow, as requested, since he paid so generously for your… services. You’ll be expected to take care of your usual chores in the evening—” He leans in so close his moustache tickles Louis’ ear. “After spending all day on your back, no doubt,” he adds, making Louis flush. “Or perhaps he’ll have you on your knees, or on all fours. I remember how you used to squeal.”</p><p>Louis’ eyes burn with unshed tears, his breath coming fast. “Shut up.”</p><p>John gives a last painful squeeze to his jaw before pushing him away. “Don’t forget your place,” he snaps, before striding out of the room. </p><p>Even after he hears him storm down the stairs and out of the house, Louis needs a moment to even his breathing, hands shaking as he finishes gathering the bedding from the room. He wants nothing more than to run to Oli again, or Jamie, but if he does he won’t be able to help Henry tomorrow. So he stays put. John will be out for a while anyway. </p><p> </p><p>For the rest of the day he keeps his head down—spends a great part of it outside, carrying water back from the pump for washing. He’s so exhausted by dinner time even Ann takes some pity on him and orders him to get to bed rather than do the washing up. </p><p>“You’re useless like this,” she tells him. </p><p>“But I’ll be gone again tomorrow, all day,” Louis says dumbly.</p><p>“I know.” Ann’s gaze holds little warmth. “Don’t worry, you’ll make it up to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Louis has washed and changed into his night shirt, and is about to get into bed when there is a knock on his door. He freezes, heart speeding up—but John wouldn’t knock. Still, he opens the door little more than an inch at first, prepared to slam it closed.</p><p>It’s Henry.</p><p>“Oh.” Louis draws out of sight to hastily fix his fringe, and pull down his sleeves in order to cover the incipient bruising from his run-in with John that morning.</p><p>“Louis?” There’s a hint of laughter in Henry’s voice, but he makes no move to push open the door.</p><p>“Tomorrow, at dawn, I know,” Louis says quickly, peeking out, tucking a longer bit of hair behind his ear even as he keeps a grip on his sleeve, fingers curled into his palm.</p><p>“Yes. It’s not that. I just wondered—” Henry’s eyes drop to the exposed dip of his collarbones where the oversized nightshirt slips lower in one shoulder. “I didn’t see you all day.”</p><p>The unexpected statement leaves Louis speechless for a second. “There was a lot of work to do,” he says with a small shrug. Then, in a dash of daring, adds: “Were you hoping to… see me?” His voice comes out as soft and high as ever, and he feels himself blush when Henry meets his eyes with obvious surprise, his lips curving into a delighted smile.</p><p>“I was,” he replies. “I missed the sight of you like one misses the sun on a cold day.”</p><p>Louis breathes out a shy giggle. “The sun was out, and the day quite warm.”</p><p>Henry’s broad shoulders shake with his laughter. “It didn’t feel like it.” His gaze lingers on Louis as he tries and fails to contain a grin. “If I may, I have something for you.” </p><p>He pulls out a small parcel from behind his back and holds it out. When Louis only stares, round eyed, he carefully unwraps it himself—it’s a lemon tart. </p><p>“For me?” Louis asks in a whisper. </p><p>“For you.”</p><p>“It’s my favourite.” Bringing the tart up almost to his nose, he takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, zingy aroma.</p><p>“Yes, a certain ginger fellow said as much.” Henry’s grin is wide and satisfied. “I talked to Mr Wright at the market,” he clarifies. </p><p>“What? You spoke to Oli?” Louis gapes at him. “What did he tell you?”</p><p>“He didn’t say much, to tell the truth. He asked a great deal. But he seemed quite satisfied at the end of his questioning—enough to reveal your sweet tooth, at least.” </p><p>Baffled, Louis huffs out a soft laugh. “I don’t know what he was thinking. I promise you, I didn’t put him up to it.”</p><p>Henry’s smile softens. “I know.”</p><p>“And you didn’t have to… do this.” he mumbles helplessly, holding up the lemon tart.   </p><p>“I wanted to,” Henry answers simply. “I wanted to see your smile again—it’s beautiful, your smile. You’re beautiful.”</p><p>Louis ducks his head bashfully, feeling the pink in his cheeks, but he can’t hold back a smile even as he shakes his head no. “Perhaps you spent too long in the sun today.” Henry obliges with a chuckle, and Louis presses on before he can argue. “Would you like some?”</p><p>“No, it’s for you.”</p><p>“Thank you. I do love these,” Louis says softly, looking up at Henry beneath his lashes.</p><p>Henry stares at him for a minute, his face slack, before clearing his throat. “I’m glad. I’ll let you get some sleep now.” With a slight bow, he offers him a warm smile. “Good night, sweetheart.”</p><p>All day John’s vicious words had been knocking about in his head, but when he gets into bed, he feels lighter, falling asleep within minutes with the scent of lemon in his nose. </p><p>—</p><p>At first light Louis makes his way to the stables, carrying a cloth bag with breakfast and a packed lunch, shivering in the morning chill.</p><p>“Morning, Oli,” he calls out through a yawn, following the sound of his friend’s whistling. At the sight of Oli adjusting the saddle straps on John’s horse, Louis takes a couple of hurried steps backwards.</p><p>“There you are. Almost got Albion good to go,” Oli says casually in greeting.</p><p>“For—?” Noticing how Sam and Henry’s horses are saddled and ready to leave, his mouth dries. “For <em>me</em>? Are you mad?”</p><p>“What were you planning to do, walk?” Oli raises his eyebrows at him, deadpan, then rolls his eyes. “No, of course not for you. This horse isn’t the easiest to handle, even if you know how to ride, which you don’t.”</p><p>“And he doesn’t like me,” Louis adds, eyeing the stallion nervously.</p><p>“But the night we met...?” Henry brings a flask over to him and presses it into his hands. The brush of his fingers warms Louis up as much as the first sip, even as he chokes at the burn of the liquor. </p><p>“Turnip is a twenty year old pony, and Oli was leading her,” he rasps.</p><p>Henry’s mouth quirks with amusement. “That’s a rather decent rum, you know.”</p><p>Louis clears his throat, pulling a face. “Tastes like cheap gin,” he teases, making Henry laugh.</p><p>“So what are we going to do?” Sam interrupts irritably, pushing off from the stall wall he had been leaning on. </p><p>“You can ride Creswell’s horse—she’s a calm one—and hold onto Albion’s saddle if needed—she will follow him easily,” Oli explains to Louis, then turns to Henry and Sam. “You can work out between the two of you who will ride Albion, and who gets this cranky young thing.” He rubs the muzzle of Sam’s horse, which quietens him minimally. “He’s not properly broken in, you know.”</p><p>“I knew we were taken for fools,” Sam mutters. He glances at Louis, then at Henry, and lets out a put upon sigh. “I’ll take him. I’m used to him, and he’s used to me.”</p><p>“It’s not too dangerous?” Henry asks Oli. “Brandy’s been docile, but will she be alright without a proper lead?”</p><p>“It’ll be fine. You won’t go fast, but you’ll get there,” Oli says unconcernedly. </p><p>“Wherever <em>there</em> is,” Sam says under his breath.</p><p>As much as he trusts Oli and his horse expertise, Louis isn’t too convinced. His experience with Albion has not been pleasant. But then, what choice do they have? Walking is out of the question. </p><p>Though Turnip is a large pony, she is still smaller than any horse, and Louis feels distinctly out of sorts when Henry helps him onto Brandy, and not only because of his large hand on his waist, or his warmth and masculine scent. “Are you comfortable?” Henry asks in a quiet voice, one hand still on his thigh. </p><p>“Mhm. Let’s get this over with.”</p><p>Henry nods, giving him a comforting squeeze before moving away to mount Albion. </p><p>Oli comes up to Louis as they head out, meeting his eyes in silent communication—making sure it’s alright, that <em>he</em> is alright. “I’ll see you this evening when you return,” he tells him with confidence. </p><p>Louis gives a jerky nod. “See you tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>The sun remains distant and pale, the morning grey as they ride through the outskirts of town and out into the surrounding wooded hills.</p><p>Oli’s judgement had been sound: Brandy follows Albion without needing much direction, and Louis finds himself relaxing after a while, trusting in the horse. Henry manages well with Albion, who seems unusually calm in his hands. While, perhaps because of the unhurried pace, Rust is marginally more disposed to listen to Sam.</p><p>“We passed through here yesterday,” Sam comments at several points.  “Look, we marked that rock even.” </p><p>Preoccupied, Louis only hums in agreement. He has the map in his head, but it’s the tug somewhere in his gut that seems to be leading him—and making him vaguely nauseated. To this discomfort is soon added a growing soreness in his muscles, unaccustomed to horseback riding. </p><p>He starts when the mare comes to an abrupt stop. Henry had pulled Albion short to scan the forest around them.</p><p>“What is it?” Louis asks in a whisper.</p><p>Expression puzzled but not fearful or distressed, Henry gives a small shake of his head. “For a moment I imagined I could almost smell the sea, even though it’s miles away,” he explains with a short laugh. </p><p>Sam’s eyebrows rise as high as they can go.</p><p>Louis scratches absently where the mark on his arm is hidden underneath his sleeve. “I don’t know what the sea smells like. I smell rain, though,” he responds, looking up doubtfully.</p><p>“Of course it had to rain today,” Sam grumbles. </p><p>“It’s not raining yet,” Henry says cheerfully. </p><p>In spite of everything, that makes Louis smile. “Perhaps it won’t rain at all,” he returns, his smile widening, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly when Henry chuckles and holds his gaze, grinning. For some reason, Henry makes him feel hopeful.</p><p>His face and chest warm alike, Louis ducks his head, still smiling. </p><p>“Let’s move on, shall we?” Sam’s eye roll is audible. </p><p>When he glances up again Henry is still looking at him, face alight, even as he spurs the horse to get moving again. “Alright, Sam,” he laughs. “We’re going.”</p><p>“We’ll have to stop soon to give the horses a proper rest,” Sam grouses as they continue. “And have something to eat, and…”</p><p> </p><p>By the time they stop for lunch, it’s raining—not too heavily, but enough they have to take refuge under some trees, and wet seeps through Louis’ old shoes. </p><p>Waiting for Henry to come back from relieving himself, Sam begins coaxing Rust into compliance, while Louis feeds Brandy a bit of carrot, giggling when she butts her head against his hand in search of more. </p><p>His breath catches in his chest, however, when Albion trots toward him, enough give in the rope securing him to the tree to come straight over. Mouth dry and heart pounding, Louis carefully offers him a wedge of overripe apple, and tentatively pets his muzzle. </p><p>“I’ve heard tell horses are a bit like the sea.”</p><p>Louis spares a quick look at Henry as he approaches, but keeps his eyes on the horses. “Is that so?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. </p><p>“So they say.” Standing at his side, Henry rests a large hand on the low of his back—intimate, and strangely reassuring. “You need a healthy dose of respect, but no fear, otherwise you won’t get anywhere,” he says, and placing his free hand over Louis’ on the horse, guides him to pet Albion’s neck. “He’s not so bad, you know.”</p><p>Louis leans back into Henry’s touch, allowing himself to be enveloped by Henry’s larger frame. “I know. It’s only—John very nearly trampled me with him once,” he explains with a strained laugh. “It’s hard to forget that.” He relaxes minutely when Brandy demands he pet her again. “It’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen off yet, riding drunk,” he adds.</p><p>Henry makes a deeply disapproving noise, but his hand on his back moves to rub up and down his spine soothingly before settling on the back of his neck, a comforting weight.</p><p>“Brandy is treating you alright?”</p><p>“I think we should carry on, we don’t want to risk not making it back before nightfall,” Sam says, folding up the map he had been perusing.</p><p>Tucking his damp hair into his cap, Louis turns a little to look up at Henry without displacing the hand on his neck. “Mhm. She’s a darling.” His eyes slide to Sam trying to mount a skittish Rust. “You got lucky,” he whispers to Henry, biting back a smile.</p><p>Chuckling, Henry gives his nape a light squeeze before moving to help him onto the mare. </p><p>“You’re right. We had best move on,” he calls out to Sam.</p><p>“How far are we, Louis?” Sam asks, steadying his mount. “We didn’t make it this far yesterday, or we must have taken a wrong turn.”</p><p>Finding his bearings once again astride a horse, Louis shrugs. He doesn’t know where they are on the map, but he knows—“Not far.” </p><p>“Are you nervous or cold?” Henry asks him in a low voice.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>His hand on the saddle shifts to Louis’ knee. “You’re trembling.” </p><p>Louis looks down at the hand on his knee, then up to meet Henry’s eyes. “Both, to be entirely honest,” he confesses.</p><p>Henry stills the nervous fidgeting of his hands, and taking them in his own, leads them to his mouth to blow warm air on them, then kisses his knuckles. “Would it comfort you to know I am not unskilled with sword or pistol? After twenty years at sea, I have had several run-ins with pirates and still have all my limbs, and no terrible disfigurement.”</p><p>“Only minimal?" Louis quips with a faint smile, and nods with a whispered thank you when Henry asks ‘Better?’ He’s warmed through.</p><p>“I am not unscarred, beneath my clothes,” Henry remarks, stepping away to hop on to his horse. “You may have noticed, the night we met.” </p><p>Louis lets out a surprised, bashful giggle. “The lighting wasn’t the best,” he replies after a moment.</p><p>Henry throws his head back in a laugh. “No, I suppose it wasn’t.”</p><p>He walks Albion near as they start out, following Sam. “But, Louis, I meant it,” he tells him in a low, earnest voice. “I won’t let any harm come to you.”</p><p>“Weapons cannot always protect you,” Louis counters quietly. </p><p>“You have been very cryptic,” Sam interjects, breaking any illusion of privacy. “What can we expect, when we reach our destination?”</p><p>Louis twists his hands in the reins. “There is—or there was, at least—some form of… <em>being</em> in these hills. I wouldn’t know what to call her. I don’t know what she calls herself.”</p><p>“A… magical creature?” Sam asks, deadpan.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Sam makes a disbelieving, scoffing noise. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”</p><p>“In all your travels, you have never encountered magic?” Louis asks sincerely, wondering. While the existence of the being in the hills is not widely known in the village, magic, the strange and inexplicable, is not an alien concept. Even in the relative isolation of Brambridge they have accounts from pedlars and travellers, and passed down from parents and grandparents. </p><p>“Old wives’ tales and children's spook stories, nothing more.” </p><p>“Hm. I suppose it isn’t all that common,” Louis muses. “Which is good. It’s dangerous.”</p><p>“Magic is as dangerous as the sea, or a horse, or a moonless night,” a strange voice rings out. “It is what it is. As it is what you make of it.” Although the words and the voice sound human enough, it doesn’t <em>feel</em> human.</p><p>Louis stiffens, the blood rushing from his head. He blinks and—Suddenly, they are all three dismounted, the horses nowhere to be seen, standing in a clearing, at the top of a hill, in a dell—looking around he can see the sea far in the distance, although it is impossible, and fields, like a dream rolling into a horizon, sunrise to sunset.</p><p>On the ground, carved into the dirt, is the same symbol as on the token and his arm. </p><p>“I remember you.” The creature takes form, as if the air and the hills around them give her shape.</p><p>She looks him over with dark, liquid eyes. “It has not been easy for you.” Extending a hand, she touches the center of his chest with the tips of her fingers, and for a moment all the weariness and ache in his bones lifts. </p><p>A tired exhalation escapes him. </p><p>“I tell you now as I did then, when I felt your plight.” She grabs his arm, catching him by surprise. “And I promise the memory of pain will not be all that will come from the bond.” The mark in his arm flares with unexpected pain, making him gasp. “When the time comes,” she concludes, in a whisper, letting go of him then turning like a sudden whirlwind to look at Henry and Sam.</p><p>“And who are <em>you</em>?” she asks, coming to stand right in front of Henry. “What is it you desire?” </p><p>Henry hesitates, obviously taken aback, then holds out the token. “George Whitefield sent us—for help.” </p><p>“Oh.” Reaching for the medallion, she flips it over in her fingers, plays with it like a street magician. “I did not expect this favour ever to be cashed in,” she says, casual and curious. “And where is <em>he</em>?”</p><p>“Dead,” Sam answers laconically. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”</p><p>She hums, like the thrum of a beehive. “And what is it you need?”</p><p>“Money,” Henry answers simply. “For his family. He… he lost everything, before he died.”</p><p>“Everything except this. He was no fool.” She extends her arm, token in the palm of her hand. “I am no conjuror. I cannot magic a bag of coins from nothing, as I cannot a remedy to cure all ills.”</p><p>“What <em>can</em> you do then?” Sam asks, impatiently.</p><p>She casts him an arch look. “Anything, and everything. At a price. But I cannot deal with the dead. I cannot help you.”</p><p>Henry’s expression is resolute. “Deal with <em>me.</em>” </p><p>“No!” Louis blurts out without thinking. He knows what kind of price she extracts; he cannot stand by and let Henry do that to himself.</p><p>Henry glances at him with furrowed brow. “I only wish for enough to help my friend’s family—they are innocent and they need help,” he entreats. “I promised him.”</p><p>Her mouth curves into a slight smile, even as she shakes her head. “There is nothing for you here. You—” Closing her fist around the medallion tight for a second, it seems to sizzle, and when she then drops it into his hand it’s burned black, the symbol no longer able to be made out. “—will have more than you need and everything you can desire.”</p><p>Her eyes shift to Louis. She holds up two fingers, and her smile widens and softens. “At the stroke of midnight.”</p><p>In the blink of an eye they are back on the path, on their horses, like no time has passed. </p><p>A rain drop falls on Louis’ face, and he raises two fingers to his brow, disoriented.</p><p>‘What the hell happened?” Sam is the first one to speak. He describes a tight circle on his horse, peering into the trees around him, while Henry blinks down at the medallion in his hand, now an indistinct piece of charred metal. </p><p>“Now what?” Sam asks after a minute. “I do not believe that she will be coming back.”</p><p>Henry releases a quiet sigh. “I don’t know.” He thumbs at the token, looking preoccupied. “George died in hope of doing right by his family with this. Redeeming himself.”</p><p>Sam is silent for a moment, then lets out a huff. “I don’t understand. Anything,” he says, shaking his head. “Do <em>you</em> have any idea what she was talking about?” he asks suddenly, turning to Louis.</p><p>“Some of it. I… I don’t know.” His forearm is still sensitive, but every other ache and the bone deep tiredness has returned. And he feels—“I need… a moment,” he chokes out, adding a breathless ‘please’ before sliding off his horse inelegantly.</p><p>Although he hurts his ankle in the process, he quickly hobbles away into the trees for a bit of space. He needs it after reliving the moment he lost his freedom, the time he had his heart broken. His breathing quick and short, Louis sinks to a crouch, his back sliding down the trunk of a tree. <em>Two days.</em> Two days left after <em>ten years.</em> His body hurts, even more than usual after so long on a horse, and he bows his head, feeling faint, ears buzzing. </p><p>“Louis!”</p><p>His heart rate speeds up as he comes to—he must have blacked out for a second. </p><p>“Hey, sweetheart.” A large, warm hand cradles his face, gently encouraging him to look up. Henry’s eyes are concerned. “Did she do something to you?” he asks, thumb stroking the curve of his cheek bone.</p><p>“Mm, years and years ago,” Louis confesses, mumbling, confused. “But I said yes. I didn’t know, but I said yes.” </p><p>Henry’s eyebrows dip. </p><p>Louis catches snippets of Sam’s voice nearby: ’Here… give him…” And then there’s the mouth of a waterskin pressed to his lips carefully. </p><p>He drinks without thinking, but it clears his head, enough to realise he’s sitting rather than crouching now, and it’s drizzling again. </p><p>“Better?” Henry asks, keeping a grounding hand on the crook of his neck. </p><p>“Mhm. I’m sorry. I didn’t get much sleep, and it was a long ride.” His voice sounds weak, and he isn’t surprised when Sam crouches next to them. </p><p>“We’ve still got a long ride back,” he says, reaching for Louis’ wrist to take his pulse. “Do you think you’re up for it?”</p><p>“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Louis’ lips quirk. “I’m not spending the night here,” he replies wryly. </p><p>Sam lets out a laugh. “Yes. The options are limited.” </p><p>Henry’s smile is strained, and when Louis makes to stand up, he gives him a squeeze. “Wait. Rest a moment longer, drink some more.” </p><p>Sam nods in agreement. “I’ll check on the horses.” </p><p>Henry rubs soothing circles on his knee while coaxing Louis to drink for a minute. </p><p>“I’m sorry she didn’t help,” Louis says quietly after a moment.</p><p>“I had no idea what to expect when I came here. We’ll have to… figure something out.” Henry sighs. “Sam and I are not rich men, but perhaps between the two of us, we can put together enough.” His lips twitch. “It was an interesting experience, if nothing else.” Shaking his head, he inspects the blackened medallion, then drops it in the dirt. </p><p>“You’re not taking it with you?” Louis asks in surprise.</p><p>“Should I?” Henry returns with equal surprise. “It’s over, isn’t it?”</p><p>It will soon be. Shaking his head again to confirm the dizziness has passed, he pushes himself up against the tree. “I feel better now, we should go.”</p><p>“Easy.” Henry helps him up, and gives his upper arms a light rub once he’s standing steady. “There you are, sweetheart. Got some colour back in your cheek,” he says, stroking his face with the back of his hand. </p><p>Louis smiles shyly, noticing how close they are standing, how he is still holding onto Henry’s elbow. If he got on his tiptoes, or Henry bent down, they could kiss. “It’s passed. I’m fine,” he says, giving his arm a squeeze. “Thank you.” </p><p>“If you feel faint at any point, call out,” Henry tells him as he hoists him onto Brandy. </p><p>“You could take a nasty fall, from a horse,” Sam concurs. “You don’t want to deal with broken bones; they are a pain.”</p><p>Louis holds tight to the reins. He knows. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s an easier ride back, for some reason, in spite of the intermittent drizzle. They even make it back before dinner. </p><p>“How is it possible we got back earlier today than yesterday?” Sam asks, bewildered, as they near the stables. </p><p>“Magic?” Henry replies wryly. </p><p>Sam shakes his head. “And yet we have nothing to show for it. Do you think we can leave tomorrow? If the horses are rested enough to start out in the morning, we could move on to the nearest town.” </p><p>Louis’ eyes search out Henry automatically, and find his gaze already fixed on him, his brow furrowed. Biting the inside of his cheek, Louis quickly averts his eyes, keeping his head bowed as he fidgets with his damp, wilting cap.</p><p>“We need to sit down and decide our course of action, and here is a good a place as any for that,” Henry says firmly.</p><p>“Mm. I suppose, if that’s what you want.” </p><p>Feeling eyes on him, Louis looks up again and catches Sam staring at him with a contemplative look on his face.</p><p>Oli is there to greet them at the stable entrance. </p><p>“Everything alright?” he asks Louis, as he leads Brandy to a stall. As soon as Louis dismounts, he looks him over in the fading light with a critical eye.</p><p>Summoning a faint smile, Louis nods. “I’m fine,” he answers, knowing that’s what Oli is asking.</p><p>“You got back quick,” he comments, loosening the cinch. “Ann is still making dinner.” </p><p>“Oh. I should go help.” He is sore from the saddle, and tired as ever, but he can’t hide out in his room while she finishes and serves dinner. </p><p>“Where are you going?” Henry asks, passing the reins to Oli, as Louis heads out, shoulders hunched up to his ears and hands tucked in his armpits—the evening is cooling rapidly and he is damp all over from the ceaseless light rain on the ride back. </p><p>“I need to help with dinner.” </p><p>“But—Louis—” Henry reaches out to adjust his cap, his fingers lingering in a caress. “At least change. You’ll catch cold.”</p><p>Louis gives him a small smile. “I’ll get warm soon in the kitchen.”</p><p> </p><p>Though the kitchen is warm, Ann’s reception is not. “You look dead on your feet,” she says while loading the dishes onto the trolley to take out to the dining room. “You’re not going to faceplant into the stew and ruin it, are you?” </p><p>“No, I don’t think so,” Louis deadpans. </p><p>Humming skeptically, she motions at the silverware. “I’m almost done here anyway. Go set the table.” </p><p>After setting the table, ever the perfectionist, Louis smooths out a wrinkle in the table cloth and pauses to spruce up the flower arrangement. He clears a smattering of flower petals from the table and removes a couple of wilting flowers, raising a faded daffodil to his nose to breathe in the last of its fragrance.</p><p>“Remember how I used to bring you flowers?”</p><p>His whole body tenses in response to John’s voice.</p><p>“A handful of weeds was all it took to get a kiss,” John continues.</p><p>Louis turns to face him. Backed up against the table, he holds his arms close, hands up to his chest warily.</p><p>“When was the last time someone kissed you, hm?” John smirks. “I’m the only one who’s ever had you, aren’t I? And ever will.” </p><p>Louis tries to step around him, but John is quick to push him back against the table. He grabs his chin, tilting his face to one side or the other as though inspecting it. “Who else would want you?” He’s close enough Louis can smell his rank breath. </p><p>“Let go of me,” he gasps, twisting out of his grasp. As he stumbles back into the table, silverware clatters to the floor, followed by the crash of a plate shattering on impact.</p><p>“Useless! Do you think we can afford broken china?” Seizing hold of his elbow John shakes him hard enough to make his head rattle. “Fuck.”</p><p>“Let go—” </p><p>John backhands him across the face—hard.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Louis hears through the ringing in his ears.</p><p>The sight of Henry striding into the room momentarily confuses him, but John barely glances at him. </p><p>“This is none of your concern. This useless—” He hits him again, catching his cheek bone. “—little—” He raises his arm again, but Henry catches his closed fist, stopping him. </p><p>“How dare you raise a hand against him?” Eyes blazing, face flushed with anger, Henry steps between them.</p><p>Though he is forced to step back, John keeps a tight grip on Louis’ arm. “He belongs to me,” he sneers. “I can do what I like with him.” </p><p>“I will not allow it.” Henry stares him down. “Let go of him.”</p><p>John bristles. “You are a guest here, know your place, sir.”</p><p>“Let him go,” Henry repeats, admitting no discussion. </p><p>Though tall and broad, John is no match for Henry. After a long moment, his fingers loosen their hold on him, and he takes a step back, and then another. Henry’s unmoving, massive form serves as a shield, but John manages to catch Louis’ eyes around him. His expression is murderous, and Louis knows there will be punishment. But for now, he leaves.</p><p>The second he is gone from the room, Henry turns around, reaching for Louis as though wanting to hold, though he stops himself before gripping him. “Louis—”</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Louis says automatically, smearing blood from his split lip on his face with the back of his hand. </p><p>With a minute shake of his head, Henry pulls out his handkerchief, folds it in a soft square and, ever so gentle, places it over the cut. “Is this how it always is?” he asks in a low voice. </p><p>Louis reaches up to hold the handkerchief himself, but ends up holding Henry’s hand to his face instead. He gives a small shrug. “It’s how it’s always been.”</p><p>“Sweetheart,” Henry sighs, cradling his face. </p><p>Louis can’t help but lean into the touch, eyelids fluttering at the sudden desire to cry. “I need to clean this up,” he chokes out finally.</p><p>When he goes to bend down to gather up the pieces, however, Henry stops him with a gentle hand. “It can wait.”</p><p>“Not if you want your dinner,” Louis replies with forced levity. Avoiding Henry’s eyes, he rambles. “John will ignore you the entire meal, but no worse than that, I don’t think—he needs your coin—And well, that’s probably an improvement, isn’t it, not to have to talk to him—”</p><p>“I won’t be sitting to dinner with that man,” Henry says heatedly. “I did not want to risk you getting hurt, otherwise I would have—”</p><p>Louis looks up at him, round eyed. “Henry, it’s not worth the trouble,” he says, the name slipping out. “<em>I’m</em>… not worth the trouble.” A placating hand on his chest, he speaks hurriedly over Henry’s protestations. “I’m not. You can get through dinner tonight, and then you should go—tomorrow, as you had planned.” </p><p>Henry simply shakes his head. “Louis, I know you’ve been working here a long time, but it doesn’t have to be like this. Sweetheart, I—” Clasping Louis’ hand, he raises it to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “If nothing more, I can make sure you’re employed somewhere else, where no one will lay a hand on you.”</p><p>Louis wavers: his arm and his face hurt, and he’s… so tired. </p><p>“Is there anywhere we can go, anyone in the village you can stay with?” Henry asks. “I don’t think you should stay here tonight.”</p><p>It hadn’t even occurred to Louis to go, as he has never been able to just leave. But—tomorrow, at the stroke of midnight, she had said. It’s only one night. Recklessly, he nods. “Jamie. Jamie Hartman and his family will take me in.”</p><p>Henry nods, and gives him an encouraging nudge with a hand on his lower back. “Perfect. Let’s go collect your things.” </p><p>“I don’t have much.” </p><p>“What little you may have, it’s still yours.”</p><p>He keeps Louis close, out the dining room and down the hall, where they bump into Ann. She stops short, obviously noticing the cut on his lip and the incipient bruising on his face. </p><p>“You’re fine,” she determines briskly. “Come on then, before the stew dries up. Dinner is ready, sir,” she adds, with a crude curtsy at Henry. </p><p>“I won’t be dining here. And you will have to serve on your own.”</p><p>Ann stares at him in amazement, then turns to Louis. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m leaving,” Louis whispers. </p><p>She responds with a snort of laughter. “This again? I expect you back tomorrow, then, like the other times. And don’t be looking for any sympathy from me when you get what you deserve from the master.”</p><p>“I’m not coming back,” he says, resolute, voice strengthening. He tilts his chin up. “Not this time.”</p><p>“Mhm.” She stares pointedly at where Henry’s touching Louis, her lips curled derisively. “What did he promise you, hm? I thought you’d learnt your lesson there, you silly goose.”</p><p>“That’s enough. I’m certain you have work to do,” Henry cuts in, and Louis lets him guide him on to his room. Clearly taking note of his hesitance, Henry opens the door for him but steps back. “I’ll wait here.”</p><p>Louis really doesn’t have much: some clothes; a trinket the charming son of a peddler had once gifted him; a little rag doll that had belonged to his sisters; a handful of pebbles he had collected over the years. </p><p>He looks around at his room—his cell, for almost a decade, picking at the cut on his lip until the sting snaps him out of his daze. It’s almost over. Tomorrow night, at the stroke of midnight, the time will be up. </p><p>“All set?” Henry asks gently when he exits the room after a few minutes. </p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>Outside, Henry wraps him in his coat and takes his bag, even though it’s not heavy. After a moment, he wraps an arm around Louis, pulling close.</p><p>“Alright?” he whispers into his hair.</p><p>Louis burrows against his side wordlessly.</p><p>They make the short walk in silence, but it’s comfortable, and Louis feels safe and relaxed. </p><p>He manages a small smile for Ruth when she opens the door, warm light and children’s laughter spilling from inside the house. </p><p>Her face falls immediately however when she takes in his face. “Oh, dear, again?” she hums unhappily as she ushers him inside. “Look at the state of you. Come inside, quick. Through here—You wait here,” she tells Henry, who holds his hands out in a pacifying gesture and hangs back as Ruth leads Louis toward the stairs.</p><p>Jamie gets half out of his chair where he’s sitting at the table, dinner almost done. “What—?”</p><p>Ruth flaps a hand at him. “I’ve got it.”</p><p>“I’m alright, Ruth, truly,” Louis assures her as they enter the bedroom. He carefully pokes at his cheek, repressing a wince. “I can even touch it.”</p><p>Ruth doesn’t dignify that with a response. Shaking her head, she sits him down on the bed, and in a familiar sequence fetches a flannel, pours cool water from a ceramic pitcher into a basin, and brings both over.</p><p>“Did he beat you?” she asks, looking him over. “Should I get a compress for your ribs?”</p><p>“No. Henry stopped him.” Louis twists his fingers in his lap as she dabs at the blood smear that had dried on his face. He keeps his eyes closed. </p><p>There is a pause as she dips the flannel in water again, rinsing and cooling it. “Good.” Placing the square over his hot, aching cheek, she asks. “Do tell me he hit him as well?” </p><p>“No, but—” He lets out a shaky laugh, opening his eyes again. “I think he wanted to.”</p><p>Ruth grins. “Good,” she repeats simply, then stands, basin in both hands. “You haven’t had dinner, have you? Will you sit with us, or would you rather I bring you something?” </p><p>“I’m not very hungry.” Besides the incident with John, he’s exhausted and sore from the ride, and emotionally drained after everything. </p><p>“That wasn’t the question. You have to eat something,” Ruth tells him firmly. “Why don’t you get comfortable, and I’ll bring you some broth.”</p><p>“I can’t take your bed,” Louis returns, adamant, lowering the flannel to meet her eyes head on. “I’m fine, honestly.” </p><p>Ruth eyes him critically. “I’ll fix the children’s room up for you, and they can sleep with us tonight,” she decides. She pauses at the door. “Will the commander be staying the night?” </p><p>Louis blushes, and presses the cold flannel back to his cheek. “I’m not sure.” </p><p>“Do you want him to?”</p><p>Thinking of how he had defended him, his warm eyes and gentle touch, his kind words, Louis nods. “I think so. If he wants.”</p><p>Closing his eyes, Louis lets himself fall back on the bed—he has a bit of a headache. He hates imposing, and he has no idea where he stands with Henry, and his stomach is in knots at having left John’s house. </p><p>He’s so preoccupied he doesn’t hear the knock, and startles, but it’s only Jamie. </p><p>“Hey.” He steps inside at Louis’ faint welcoming smile. “How are you?”</p><p>“Fine, honestly,” he replies, sitting up.</p><p>Jamie sits down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Ruth says you’re spending the night,” he says after a minute, a question in his voice. He hesitates. “I didn’t think—The last time you agreed to stay the night you were a boy. Though you didn’t sleep at all,” he says softly, sympathetically.</p><p>“Neither did you,” Louis whispers. He remembers how Jamie had sat with him, through the pain. “Nor the night after.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry—”</p><p>“How many times, hm?” Jamie gives him a little shake. “It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. Nothing to do with you—”</p><p>“But I broke the terms of the bond.”</p><p>“And you suffered for it,” he replies grimly. “I dropped a hammer on my foot and didn’t look after it proper, that's all. But I managed just fine with eight toes as I did with ten, eventually. And you know how much the children love it.” He nudges Louis, coaxing a faint laugh out of him.</p><p>Louis releases a shuddering sigh, his shoulders rounding. “I didn’t intend to leave. I broke a plate, and John hit me, and Henry stepped in,” he explains. “I can take a few blows. But I thought, since it’s the last night, maybe it’d be alright. But what if something happens? Remember the time I tried to go away with Oli and there was a flood?”</p><p>“It was the wet season. A coincidence,” Jamie says firmly. “And if something happens, it happens. But nothing is going to happen.” He squeezes his shoulder. “Are you in any pain?”</p><p>Louis shakes his head. No more than usual. He drums his fingers over his forearm. “It’s nearly gone.” His voice drops to a shaky whisper. “It’s almost over.”</p><p>Ruth gives a cursory knock before pushing the door open. “Everything’s ready, dear.” </p><p>As he moves to the children’s room across the hall, he hears Henry downstairs entertaining the children, his deep voice contrasting with James’ babbling and chortling, and Grace’s still childish laughter. He can’t help but smile, warmth in his chest. </p><p>Once he’s washed up and changed into one of Jamie’s night shirts, Ruth brings him a bowl of broth.</p><p>“The commander has promised to make sure you eat,” Ruth informs him, the slightest hint of teasing in her voice. “I’ll be back in a minute with a fresh compress.”</p><p>He’s a third into his bowl when there’s a knock on the door. Expecting it to be Ruth, he’s startled when Henry peeks in. “May I come in?”</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Louis says immediately, though he feels self conscious in his night clothes and in bed. He fidgets with his hair, bowl balanced on his lap. “Did you eat?” he asks Henry. </p><p>“I did. They were kind enough to feed me too.” He smiles as he sits down by the window. “Grace even snuck me an extra biscuit. And I… snuck one for you too,” he says, revealing a pair of golden honey biscuits, breaking into a grin which only widens when Louis giggles. “But you can only have it after you’ve cleaned your plate.” </p><p>Even without much appetite it’s hardly a hardship as Ruth is an excellent cook.</p><p>“That she is,” Henry agrees. </p><p>“Ruth, we were just complimenting your cooking,” Louis tells her when she comes by soon after with the compress, cool and smelling of apple cider vinegar this time.</p><p>“Thank you. But less complimenting and more eating, I know what you’re like. Finish that up. And here’s a blanket for you, Commander,” she adds. “In case you… decide to stay.”</p><p>Henry gives a slight bow as he thanks her, and remarks, after she has bid them good night: “Good people.” </p><p>“They are.” Louis drains the last of the broth and sets the bowl down so he can hold the compress up to his face more comfortably. “I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve their kindness, or yours,” he murmurs, dropping his eyes shamefully, the sting in them not just from the smell of the vinegar.</p><p>“Louis, sweetheart, I’ve seen you smile at flowers, share your breakfast with a mutt, and coddle a horse that scares you. Just now, in a few minutes that young girl had so many wonderful things to say about you. As did your ginger friend. You have a beautiful heart. And you are breathtakingly beautiful, on top of it all.” Henry approaches him, handing him the biscuit with a smile. “You really are quite a marvel,” he says earnestly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. </p><p>Overwhelmed, Louis hurries to take a sip of his drink and has to clear his throat. Blushing deeply, he shakes his head, mumbling a thank you.</p><p>“It’s only the truth,” Henry replies. His expression grows solemn when his eyes fall on the cut on his lip and blooming bruises. “It’s been a very long day for you, hasn’t it?”</p><p>Louis breathes out a weak laugh. “I suppose so.”</p><p>Henry rests a hand on his knee. “I didn’t get a chance earlier to thank you—It’s plain it wasn’t easy for you to meet that creature, and you still led us to her, on the chance of helping some strangers…” </p><p>Louis dismisses his words. “I knew she wouldn’t harm me.”</p><p>“It did hurt you. Maybe not physically, but it upset you, didn’t it?” Henry says quietly, not really a question.  </p><p>Embarrassingly, tears spring to Louis’ eyes. “It was only… It brought back bad memories. And I… I was afraid you’d make a mistake, like the one I did.”</p><p>Rather than ask, Henry simply holds his hand, loose and comforting. Louis could slip out of his hold with hardly any awkwardness, and drop the conversation, but he craves his touch and feels himself wanting to talk to him. “I expected her to make you an offer. It’s what she does. She gives you whatever you want… at a price.”</p><p>Henry nods, then after a second: “You… wanted something.”</p><p>“I wanted him to be happy,” he answers with a sigh. “Or maybe…” He gnaws on the inside of his cheek, his throat tight. “Maybe I just… wanted to be wanted,” he whispers.</p><p>Glancing at Henry, he can see that he’s confused. The conversation once begun, Louis feels he owes him more of an explanation. And although Henry seems to like him, how can he without knowing everything? </p><p>“I started working for John’s family when I was twelve,” he begins. “He teased and he flirted—but he did that with everyone. All the girls in the village liked him, and he liked them,” he adds with a bitter laugh. “It was—It felt like a dream when he started paying attention to <em>me.</em> We had to keep it hidden from his father, but he… he said once his father died—it was a matter of time, he drank so—he would inherit the land and the house, and we could be together, we’d be married.”</p><p>His hand tiring of holding up the compress, Louis lets it sink down to his lap, where he scratches at the damp material nervously. “Except when his father died, the land was repossessed because of his debts. Neither of us had any money, but I thought… we could figure it out, together. He already had a plan, however. He had heard of someone who could help us.”</p><p>“The creature in the forest,” Henry hazards. </p><p>Louis nods. “He had talked it all out with her already; he said all I had to do was say ‘yes’ and we could be together and all our problems would be solved.” He brushes a tear off his cheek roughly, wincing at the pain from the bruise. “I remember the words so clearly: ‘A fortune like a flame—but a fire must be fed. The kindling and the key to prosperity. For ten years and a day.’ It didn’t sound too bad, you know,” he says, voice wobbling, then shakes his head jerkily. “I was so stupid. I didn’t realise what it would mean.”</p><p>Henry rubs soothingly at the inside of his wrist. “What did it mean?” </p><p>Louis feels the scabbing line on his lip with trembling fingers. “Pain. And exhaustion.” He raises his sleeve to show Henry the fading mark. “I was the kindling, you see—I had to burn, for him to make his fortune.” </p><p>Henry’s forehead creases, and he squeezes Louis’ fingers. “What about… the marriage?” </p><p>“Oh. He never meant to marry me,” Louis says, matter of fact. “His father would not have wished it, he explained, and he had found a more advantageous marriage to a widow with a business.”</p><p>“He tricked you,” Henry states. </p><p>“It was my mistake.” </p><p>He shakes his head. “He lied to you,” he says emphatically. “You loved, and wanted to be loved, there’s no shame in that. He took advantange of you, of your love for him.” </p><p>Tears clinging to his eyelashes, Louis lowers his eyes. “I should have known.” </p><p>Running a thumb over his knuckles, Henry asks after a moment’s hesitation: “Why didn’t you leave, Louis? You don’t owe him anything.” </p><p>Louis takes a deep, shaky breath. “I couldn’t. I tied myself to him and this place. I could never make it one night away from his house without the most terrible pain. And I fear… without something happening, without other people being hurt,” he adds. Whatever Jamie might say, he cannot view it entirely as a coincidence. “It was a risk to leave tonight.” </p><p>Henry shakes his head dismissively. “Are you in pain now?” </p><p>“It’s not as bad as it used to be. It hasn’t for some time,” he admits. Like a flame dying out, the unnatural pain and exhaustion had dwindled gradually, year after year. </p><p>“Ten years and a day,” Henry echoes. </p><p>“Mhm. And tomorrow is the last day.”</p><p>Henry straightens in surprise with sudden animation. “And you can leave.” </p><p>“I think so. I’m just…” He’s scared something will happen. Something always happens. </p><p>Henry’s expression turns grave. “Do you still… care for him?” </p><p>Louis almost laughs at that. “No. I see him now for the man he is. And I fear him.” He cannot help picking at his lip again. “I fear he will not let me go.” </p><p>“He has no right to keep you here.” </p><p>“Do you really think right or wrong will stop him?” </p><p>“I won’t let him, Louis.” He looks so earnest and resolute, Louis’ chest feels tight with sudden emotion. </p><p>“I don’t know even know what I’m going to do, where to go, this is all I’ve ever known,” he confesses. </p><p>“You won’t have to go alone. We’re headed to Westbrooke, you can start there. We can figure it out together.” </p><p>The words, their meaning, almost make him start crying. “Where’s that biscuit?” he asks, voice thick but attempting to lighten the mood. </p><p>Henry laughs, and giving his hand a final squeeze, presents the biscuits. “Here. Have mine as well.”</p><p>“No, I couldn’t.”</p><p>“I insist.”</p><p>Blinking back tears even as he giggles, Louis breaks one in half. “You must at least take half.” </p><p>“Alright, thank you,” Henry chuckles. </p><p>Munching on the biscuit, Louis considers Henry: still in the clothes they had been riding in, missing his handkerchief, and without any of his things. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in all of this. And that we couldn’t even find a solution for your friend’s family.” </p><p>Surprise registers on Henry’s face for a second, then clears as he offers him a soft smile. “I’m not sorry. I didn’t find what I came looking for, but I… I could not regret this trip for the world.”</p><p>He holds Louis’ gaze, intent and undeniably honest. </p><p>Louis swallows the last bite of biscuit, and forces himself not to look away from Henry when he blurts out: “Will you stay the night?”</p><p>To his credit, Henry betrays no emotion that might embarrass Louis; although his eagerness is plain when he shifts closer. “If you wish it,” he says levelly, however. </p><p>Louis doesn’t hesitate. “Please.”</p><p>Sitting propped up against the headboard, he fidgets with his hair while watching Henry from under his lashes as he undresses. Henry raises a teasing eyebrow when he catches him staring, and Louis blushes and drops his eyes—but only for a moment.</p><p>“You must be tired,” Henry comments, pushing his boots to a corner.</p><p>“Mmm. But not sleepy at all.”</p><p>Henry sits at the bottom of the bed in only his breeches and shirt, open at the neck to reveal his broad, hairy chest. </p><p>“What are you doing all the way down there?” Louis asks in confusion.</p><p>“I have a few tricks that might help you sleep. If you’ll allow me,” Henry adds courteously. “Lie back?”</p><p>A nervous little laugh bursts out of Louis, but he complies, scooting down and lying on his back somewhat awkwardly. </p><p>“Can I touch you?” Henry asks. At Louis’ timid agreement, he folds back the covers to expose his feet. </p><p>Louis lifts his head from the pillow to raise his eyebrows at Henry. “What are you doing?” he asks, between amused and bewildered. </p><p>Henry chuckles. “Trust me.”</p><p>Surprisingly, Louis does. He lays back again, and—kicks his leg on reflex, bursting into giggles at the ticklish touch on the sole of his foot. </p><p>Henry laughs with him. “Are you ticklish?”</p><p>“A little,” Louis admits. </p><p>“Only a little?” Henry teases, tickling him again. </p><p>“Henry!” he squeaks with more giggles, making him laugh. “I thought you were trying to get me to sleep.”</p><p>“That’s right,” Henry says, his voice warm. “No more tickling, promise.”</p><p>Louis breaks out in goosebumps when Henry’s warm, strong hands encircle his bare ankles. He slides his palms over the arch of his feet, then gently bends his toes back and forth.</p><p>“It helps if you close your eyes,” Henry says after a moment.</p><p>“Mm.” He doesn’t at first, but as Henry continues massaging his feet, his eyelids flutter closed without conscious thought, and he feels himself relax. “Oh!” he breathes in some surprise at a particularly pleasant dig of Henry’s thumbs into the sole of one foot. </p><p>“Feel good?” </p><p>“Yes,” he confesses. “What other tricks do you have?” he asks after a few minutes with mild curiosity, feeling increasingly drowsy.</p><p>“I would try reading to you, while stroking your hair.” </p><p>Louis has never had anyone read to him. He sighs. “That sounds nice. I like your voice,” he says without thinking. </p><p>“I could tell you a story now, if you like,” Henry suggests, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice. </p><p>“About you?” </p><p>“If that’s what you want.”</p><p>“Please,” Louis says, suppressing a moan when Henry encourages him to turn on his front, and applies perfect pressure on the back of his heels.</p><p>“I was born on an island, off the coast of England…” he begins. He talks about his family—his beloved mother and two brothers; fishing as a child; his first time on a ship… until Louis feels boneless and sleepy.</p><p>After a full body stretch, he slips one eye open and makes grabby hands in a wordless request for Henry to join him.</p><p>He hasn’t lain with anyone in years, and it’s disconcerting for a minute, Henry lying on his side next to him, so close. Head propped on one hand, he looks at him unabashedly—yet his hand hovers over Louis’ middle, hesitant. </p><p>Steeling himself, Louis pulls it down to rest on his stomach, warmth creeping down his chest at the intimate touch. He rolls to his side afterwards, still holding onto Henry’s hand so that they lie back to chest.</p><p>“Is this alright?” he asks tremulously with a stab of self doubt. </p><p>“More than alright.” After pressing a soft kiss to the back of Louis’ neck, making him shiver, he settles more comfortably, holding Louis.</p><p>On the verge of sleep, Louis sighs with contentment. </p><p>“Tell me more about the sea,” he whispers, closing his eyes again. </p><p>He falls asleep to Henry’s smooth, deep voice. </p><p>—</p><p>When wakes up in the morning he is alone. He thinks he might have just had the best sleep in years. </p><p>Even though the sunlight through the curtains tells him it’s late morning, he allows himself to stay in bed for a little while longer, in Henry’s lingering warmth and scent on the sheets. </p><p>When he joins the family downstairs, Ruth informs him Henry had gone out to fetch Sam and their bags, and come to some arrangement about the horses. Jamie is busy in the workshop, so he sits with Ruth as she mends some clothing, and mind James while Grace practices making the bread on her own.</p><p>As is not unusual, after a quick chat about the morning gossip, Ruth asks him to sing. “Please, dear. Jamie plays wonderfully, but he cannot sing. And you sing wonderfully—” She pushes a spool of thread and a basket of rags for him to sort through. “—but you cannot sew. So do make yourself useful,” she teases, making Louis laugh. </p><p>Despite her words, and similar words of praise from the people who have heard him sing, he’s a little self conscious to begin with, clearing his throat before settling on a folk song his mother had taught him, then one Luke had taught him, and one he had read in one of Whitefield’s books and put to music himself. </p><p>When he finishes the song, Grace startles him by rushing to open the door. “Why were you standing outside?” she asks the people at the door, laughing. “I saw you from the window.” </p><p>Sam huffs. “Henry made me wait. He did not wish to interrupt the singing.” </p><p>Louis stands up, twisting the rag still in his hands unconsciously. </p><p>“I did not think I could fall more in love with you, and then I hear you sing,” Henry whispers to him for a greeting, with a wide, warm smile.</p><p>Louis blushes, a helpless giggle escaping him, the words seem so fantastical to him he hardly knows how to react. Then he notices Sam, who is propped on the door jamb, not in a casual pose but for support. “What happened?” he exclaims. “Are you hurt?”</p><p>“The thrice cursed horse happened, of course,” Sam tells them as Henry helps him inside. “It finally did what it had been threatening to do since it first laid eyes on me and kicked me.” </p><p>Ruth quickly clears a space for him on the couch. “Come sit down, my good man. “Where are you hurt?”</p><p>“Mostly my pride. But I believe I may have some injury.…” </p><p>She pokes and prods at his left shoulder and later his wrist, with gentle but assured hands, while Sam winces and grimaces, enough Grace has to hide her laughter in her apron. </p><p>“I am not certain, but the bone may be fractured.”</p><p>“Yes, I think it might be.”</p><p>“Shall I get Mrs Thompson, mum?”</p><p>“Probably, yes.” </p><p>Jumping to his feet, Louis holds up a hand to stop Grace as she begins to untie her apron. “I’ll go.” Feeling guilty and overwhelmed, he needs to escape, and he’s out the door before anyone can protest. </p><p> </p><p>A few streets down he makes out Oli’s orange hair walking ahead of him, and after a moment’s hesitation hurries to catch up with him. </p><p>“Louis!” Oli’s expression of relief at the sight of him quickly morphs into concern, his forehead wrinkling. “Did he hit you again? What happened? Ann said you left last night? Where are you going?”</p><p>The bruising had purpled in the night, and there is some swelling along his cheekbone, but the pain is tolerable. “I’m fine. I’m fetching the healer for Sam—Rust kicked him, and he’s hurt.” His voice wavers; it all feels reminiscent of the first time he had tried to leave John and Jamie had been hurt. </p><p>“Badly?” Oli asks. </p><p>“His shoulder. Ruth isn’t sure if his collarbone might be broken.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s not too bad. It could be worse.” Oli shrugs at his frown. “That horse needs careful handling.”</p><p>“But you could handle him, right?” Louis humours him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips in spite of everything. </p><p>Oli shrugs again, with a bit of a grin. “Most likely.” </p><p>He insists on walking Louis to Mrs Thompson, who leaves at once to see her patient. Louis, meanwhile, trails Oli as he runs some errands, wanting to delay the moment of coming face to face with Henry or Sam. </p><p>Oli is skilled at getting him to talk, however. And once he has got Louis to explain what happened the night before, it’s not long before he is spilling his fears to him: “I shouldn’t have left. It’s my fault Lt Claflin got hurt—” he worries, clasping his hands in front of his chest.</p><p>Grabbing his hand, Oli pulls him toward the blacksmith’s. “He’ll be fine. John might have hurt you worse.”</p><p>Louis shakes his head. “He’s never broken any bones. Just that one time,” he concedes, when Oli opens his mouth to argue. </p><p>“That doesn’t make it alright.” Gripping his shoulder he pulls him into a quick hug. “Creswell was right to stop him and get you out of there.” </p><p>They stop to pick up a set of new nails for fence mending, and a new latch set for a gate up at the farm.</p><p>“So what now?” Oli asks, leading them to take cover under a tree as it starts to drizzle. “You can leave now.”</p><p>Louis wraps an arm around his middle, gripping his shirt at his waist. “After tonight.” He looks out at the familiar streets and houses through the golden haze of the fine rain in pale sunlight. It hasn’t sunk in that he will be able to leave this place. “Henry offered to help me find me a position, somewhere nice.”</p><p>“That’s all?” </p><p>That brings Louis’ attention back to Oli. “What do you mean?” </p><p>Oli raises his eyebrows. “Only that I’ll be real surprised if that’s his only offer to you.”</p><p>“What—You mean—” he stammers. “He could never.” </p><p>“Why not? He seems taken with you. I had a conversation with him at the marketplace—he’s for sure interested in you.”</p><p>Louis falters, thinking about how Henry has been treating him, like… like he’s courting him. His words earlier… surely couldn’t be anything but a manner of speech. </p><p>“And you like him, don’t you?” Oli continues.</p><p>He thinks of how Henry makes him feel safe and hopeful; how he makes him laugh; how he listens, and how Louis wants to hear all the stories he has to tell. He thinks about his warm eyes and his smile; his handsome his face and broad shoulders; his strong hands. “I can’t think like that,” he says finally. “Not if it all might come to nothing.”</p><p>Oli doesn’t seem convinced, but he drops the topic. “When will you go?” </p><p>“Lt Claflin was eager to leave, and now with what happened with John— as soon as possible, I imagine. Tomorrow even.” Louis turns wide eyes to Oli, his breath coming short. “<em>Oli.</em>”</p><p>“You need to go,” he says straight away—both matter of fact and earnest. “You need to go. This isn’t your life.”</p><p>Eyes burning, Louis takes a shaky breath. “I haven’t left this village in fifteen years.”</p><p>Oli hooks an arm around his neck. “It’s about time.”</p><p>Louis breathes a wet chuckle against his neck. “I don’t want to leave you.”</p><p>“There’s work to be done at the farm now. But I don’t plan to work a farm forever.”</p><p>Louis pulls back with a weak smile, brushing away a stray tear. “Is that a promise?”</p><p>“Yes, so stop crying,” Oli laughs, bringing him in for another hug. </p><p> </p><p>Leaving Oli to his work, Louis returns to the house, but rather than the front door, he slips in through the work shop. </p><p>“You’re back.” Jamie greets him with clear relief, putting aside the chair he had been working on. “Are you alright? Everyone said you seemed upset when you left.”</p><p>Louis flushes. “A bit. I was talking to Oli.”</p><p>Jamie nods, understanding. “Good. Come have something to eat and let everyone see you so they can stop worrying.” </p><p>“I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” he sighs. “How is Sam?” </p><p>“A clean break after all; and a sprain, and some bruises,” Sam tells him himself when they go through to the living room. “I’ve had worse—shipping accident,” he clarifies at the questioning looks that meet the statement. </p><p>“He almost lost his head,” Henry interjects. “Quite literally.”</p><p>Ruth lets out a horrified gasp. “His <em>head?</em>”</p><p>“How?” Grace asks excitedly.</p><p>Louis somehow ends up seated next to Henry, close enough to touch, as Sam and him regale the family with the tale while they share leftovers from dinner—cold chicken and hard biscuits—between them all. </p><p>“Almost losing my head didn’t stop me from getting back on a ship, so this won’t stop me from getting back on a horse,” he concludes. “Maybe not that horse, however, for now.”</p><p>In spite of himself Louis cannot help but giggle. Holding onto Henry’s left arm he buries his smile against his shoulder. He keeps his head down, hiding his blush, when Henry’s hand finds his knee. The intimacy is foreign, but Louis feels relaxed in that moment—surrounded by people he loves, and infected by Sam’s rare good mood—after an anxious, emotional morning. </p><p>It’s short lived, though, as Henry moves the conversation towards their departure. “If a cart can be found in the village that will take us to the nearest town, we can procure a stagecoach there and continue to Westbrooke.”</p><p>“Jackson will drive you up to town for a few coins, no problem,” Ruth tells him, Jamie nodding in agreement as he stretches before heading back to the workshop. </p><p>“That still leaves the question of what to do with the horses.” Sam clucks his tongue. “I paid for a well mannered horse, expecting to keep it.”  </p><p>Louis disentangles himself from Henry with a sudden tightness in his chest, and straightens in his seat. He cannot rid himself of the idea that Sam is only injured because of him, and they could both have ridden and saved expenses, if it weren’t for him.</p><p>“Do you think your friend might be able to help?” Henry asks him, a light squeeze to the back of his neck making him relax infinitesimally. </p><p>Louis nods dumbly. “He will be coming by after dinner, you can talk to him then.”</p><p>“No doubt we can come to some agreement,” Sam says. “Everything might still work out after all. Henry, I’ve been thinking—didn’t Whitefield have a brother?”</p><p>Henry makes a considering noise. “Estranged, but he may be willing and able to help.”</p><p>“Do you think so?” Louis asks worriedly. </p><p>“If we can find him, if he is even alive, perhaps,” Sam answers with his usual negativity.</p><p>“It’s worth a try. And if not, we’ll figure something else out,” Henry assures him. “They are not entirely without means, and there are always things to sell if it comes to it.”</p><p>Louis nods, but cannot help but think of himself and his own situation now. He has nothing, nothing to sell at all. John had never paid him what he was owed, and in the last months not at all. </p><p>“Mrs Whitefield had no fortune of her own, if I recall?” Sam comments, absently thanking Grace as she clears the table on her mother’s instruction. “All his?”</p><p>“All <em>theirs</em> after they were married, Lt Claflin, wherever the money came from originally,” Ruth cuts in with unusual sharpness.</p><p>“Assuredly. And now all hers to lose, I fear, by his debts,” Sam replies, adjusting his sling with a grimace.</p><p>“It will not come easy for her to part with anything, but let us not despair just yet,” Henry says lightly, standing politely when Ruth gets to her feet.</p><p>Sam gives Henry a look. “You are ready to put your trust in the words of a… magical forest creature?” he asks in an undertone, once she is across the room and pulling out pans to begin preparing dinner. </p><p>“Not quite,” he replies sheepishly. “But it gives me hope.”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes. “What do<em> you</em> think? You are familiar with this creature, can she be trusted?” he asks Louis.</p><p>Louis touches his arm where the mark has faded to a light scar. “I know her magic is real. But I cannot say if her words mean anything.” Yet.</p><p>In a turmoil, he jumps to his feet. “I’d best help Ruth.”</p><p>He volunteers to fetch water from the pump to get out of the house—he’s restless, an anxious gnawing in his stomach. Moreover, his earlier tears with Oli and the tension during lunch have his face aching again, and he is still sore and tired, despite his unusually good sleep. Mostly he is nervous, about the end of the bond, about leaving. It’s a lot of change, a lot happening, and he’s overwhelmed. </p><p>Naturally, it is just his luck he happens to meet Ann finishing up at the water pump. She raises her eyebrows at him as he sets the bucket down to fill. “Going through with it this time?”</p><p>“Yes.” he replies shortly, focusing on pumping the water.</p><p>“Hmph. Good for you. And good luck!” she scoffs. “You’re useless and lazy. You won’t find a place they won’t beat you for staining the carpet, or breaking the crockery, or playing the harpsichord when you’re supposed to be cleaning.”</p><p>Louis squares his jaw. “I’ll take my chances.” </p><p>Ann snorts. Her expression hardens suddenly as her gaze shifts behind Louis, over his shoulder. </p><p>He glances behind him, surprised to see Henry has caught up with him.</p><p>“You haven’t learned a thing, have you.” Ann tuts. Shaking her head, she leaves them with a last mocking curtsy for Henry.</p><p>“Henry,” Louis says blankly, realising the bucket is full to the brim.</p><p>“Was she bothering you?” Henry asks, passing him another bucket.</p><p>“No more than usual.”</p><p>“And for the last time.”</p><p>Louis cannot help but smile at that, between wonder and trepidation, as he works the pump. “I suppose so.”</p><p>He squints up at Henry after a moment. “You’re going to insist on carrying these, aren’t you?” he teases. </p><p>“Please. Allow me to make use of these muscles.”</p><p>A giggle escapes him. “You <em>are</em> persistent.”</p><p>“One of my better qualities,” Henry replies, grinning.</p><p>Holding back laughter, he cannot help the slight wince at the pull on his healing lip. When Henry’s eyes drop to it, Louis turns his head, knuckles pressed to his lips, covering his mouth.</p><p>“It looks worse than it is,” he says quietly. </p><p>Henry makes a disbelieving, noncommittal sound as he takes the buckets full of water as though they were nothing.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you be fussing over Sam?” Louis asks, only half joking.</p><p>“Forgive me, but I cannot stand to see you hurt, and it boils my blood to know that man has been hurting you.”</p><p>For a long minute Louis doesn’t answer—if he had been so foolish as to fall for John, didn’t he deserve it? And what if Jamie was wrong, and it <em>was</em> his fault—his accident, the flood, now Sam?</p><p>When Henry catches his gaze, his expression is earnest and attentive, with no hint of blame or judgement. Louis summons a small, hesitant smile. “But he won’t—hurt me, anymore,” he tells him haltingly.</p><p>Henry’s face relaxes into a soft smile of his own. “He won’t.” They walk down the street in silence, before he speaks again suddenly. “Louis, I actually wished to speak to you.”</p><p>Louis’ eyes widen. “Oh?” He swallows thickly. “So it wasn’t just about your muscles.”</p><p>Henry obliges him with a chuckle. “No. I—Shall we stop here for a moment?” They are a short distance from the house, by a tall oak by the side of the path. “It’s still warm—You’re alright? Will you take my coat?” he asks as he puts down the buckets.</p><p>Despite his nerves, Louis feels a giggle in his chest. “I’m alright. There’s no need,” he replies shyly, reaching out to rest a hand on Henry’s chest. </p><p>Henry looks down at his hand, then his face, lingering on his lips. “I wanted to—I offered to help you secure employment in a decent household, where you will not be mistreated.”</p><p>Louis gives a small, wary nod. “Yes.”</p><p>“And there are no conditions to that. But… I wish to make you another offer.” Henry clears his throat, and takes his hand. “Of a household of your own—with me.”</p><p>“You mean—” Louis gapes at him. “I don’t understand,” he says in a rush. Oli had been joking, and of course there was no doubt Henry desired him, but—</p><p>Henry’s lips quirk in a smile. He raises his free hand to cup Louis’ face, ever so gently. “Louis, I am asking you to marry me.”</p><p>Louis turns his face into the touch without thinking. “Marry you?” he breathes.  </p><p>“I am not a rich man, but everything I own will be yours. I ask only for the chance to make you happy,” Henry continues. “If you were to accept me, you would make me the happiest man to ever live.” </p><p>“Oh.” Louis squeezes Henry’s hand, and brings the other up to hold it to his face, breath caught in his chest. “You mean it?” he asks, his eyes slipping closed when Henry caresses his face. </p><p>“I do. Every word.” </p><p>He opens his eyes to Henry’s gentle and patient gaze. He doesn’t know what to say—it feels different to how it had been with John: furtive and unsentimental, for all the sweet talk and kisses. John had never <em>asked</em>, he realises, it had not been an offer, a proposition, he had framed it as him condescending to Louis.</p><p>Henry bends down to press a light kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to give me an answer now. I only wanted you to know.”</p><p>“But I don’t have anything to offer you,” Louis says dumbly. </p><p>“Sweetheart, you are everything I want. The forest creature was right: I have found everything I can desire, in you.”</p><p>Overwhelmed, Louis can only give Henry’s hand a spasmodic squeeze, face scrunched up with a sudden urge to cry. “Sorry,” he gasps, voice shaking. “This isn’t—I just don’t know what to say.”</p><p>“It’s alright. You don’t have to say anything,” Henry soothes, stroking his cheek again. “May I embrace you?”</p><p>At Louis’ nod, Henry slowly wraps his arms around him and pulls him close. It’s intimate, and comforting, and Louis has shared hugs with Ruth and Jamie and Oli, but this is… it’s different. He melts against Henry’s chest, raising his arms to circle his waist and clutch at his back.</p><p>“If you weren’t quite so big and solid, I almost couldn’t believe you are real,” he sniffles against his shoulder after a moment. </p><p>When Henry laughs Louis feels the sound in Henry’s chest. “Big and solid, hm?”</p><p>Pulling back, Louis swats him on the chest playfully. “And thick,” he teases with a wet giggle. </p><p>Henry raises a suggestive eyebrow, and bends down to whisper in his ear: “You’re not wrong.”</p><p>His neck and face go hot, even as he can’t contain a laugh. “Henry,” he squeals. He glances up at him through his eyelashes while fixing his fringe, feeling lighter.</p><p>“There’s your beautiful smile,” Henry says with satisfaction.</p><p>Nose scrunched up but unable to stop smiling, he smooths out Henry’s coat and waistcoat, cringing at the slight damp spot where he had his face pressed into his chest. “That’s enough sweet talk,” he says between coy and genuinely bashful. “We should get back.”</p><p>Henry nods, and grabs the buckets. “Only for now, however. Such loveliness must be voiced.”</p><p>Louis is still smiling when they get back, and dinner is… relaxed, with Henry as warm and attentive as ever. Louis hasn’t spent so long away from John or Catherine or Ann in years and years, and it’s a strange feeling. It’s all strange: Henry’s proposal, the imminent end of the bond and his departure from the village. </p><p>Louis’ head is reeling and he feels giddy—enough that Oli asks him if he’s been drinking when he opens the door to let him in later. </p><p>“You were right,” Louis admits to him in a whisper.</p><p>Oli lets out a laugh. “Congratulations.”</p><p>“I haven’t said yes.”</p><p>He wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulder and gives him a light shake. “Yet.” </p><p>With that he heads over to join the others. </p><p>In the end the plan is to borrow the cart from Jackson for a small price—he is willing to drive them, Oli assures them. And Oli will see to the horses himself until they can be sold, and deduct from their selling price the expense of keeping them.</p><p>Later, preparing to retire for the night, Louis finds Jamie waiting for him right outside the door as he returns from the outhouse, standing in the sliver of light and warmth coming from inside. </p><p>Jamie hands him one of Ruth’s shawls. “But I’ll be quick.” </p><p>“Is something wrong?” Louis asks, wrapping the shawl around his shoulders, holding it closed under his chin.</p><p>“No, no. I only wanted—Well, here.” Jamie fishes out a small coin purse. “Ruth knows and approves,” he adds with a faint grin. </p><p>Louis makes no move to take it. “I can’t, Jamie.”</p><p>“I’m expecting a good price for an armoire going up to London soon.” Jamie presses the purse into his hands. “And it’s not much, only enough that, if anything should happen, you could get a few warm meals and find your way back. You will always be welcome here. Always. No matter what.”</p><p>Tearing up, Louis throws his arms around Jamie. “Thank you,” he says simply. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, all these years.”</p><p>Jamie rubs his back. “You deserve good things, my friend.”</p><p>“I’m going to miss you terribly.” </p><p>“Mm.” Jamie quirks an eyebrow when they separate. “This village may have become too small for this family.”  </p><p>“Start making more cellos and less cabinets?” Louis asks throat tight. </p><p>Jamie chuckles. “That’s the idea.”</p><p> </p><p>Given his injuries, it was decided that Sam sleep in the children’s room, and Ruth puts together a makeshift bed in the living room with spare blankets for Louis. Sitting in it makes him feel like a bit of a child again, sleeping on the floor in straw mattresses with his little sisters. </p><p>He stretches out his arms, coming to rest his cheek on one knee with a sigh, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his night shirt near his ankles.  </p><p>“You could share with Sam. It’s a large bed and you’re a peaceful sleeper, it wouldn’t be a risk for his injuries.” </p><p>Henry had disappeared to help Sam, but returns now, washed and changed into his own night clothes. </p><p>“Oh.” Louis straightens, fussing with his hair. “That hardly seems… appropriate,” he says finally, awkwardly. </p><p>Neither mention how the two of them had shared a bed the night before. </p><p>“And I won’t be going to sleep for a while yet anyway.” </p><p>“Till midnight,” Henry says, not really a question. </p><p>“Yes. I don’t know if… anything will happen, if it will feel any different,” he muses. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep regardless—even with your tricks,” he adds with a smile. </p><p>Henry laughs. “No tricks. But, perhaps you would like some company?” Tucking a bit of hair behind his ear, Louis toys with the ends of his hair, looking up at Henry in amazement. “I would. Thank you.”</p><p>He hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t for Henry to make him tea, sit right on the floor with him, and read to him from a small book of poetry, every poem on a different flower.</p><p>“Isn’t that Grace’s?” Louis squints at the book after a moment—the poems sound quite different in Henry’s slow, deep voice than Grace’s childish declamations, but he’s heard them enough to recognize the words and the book with its pastel, flower engraved cover.</p><p>Henry grins sheepishly. “I may have borrowed it from the room.”</p><p>Louis laughs. “She won’t mind.”</p><p>“It made me think of you,” he carries on, reading out a couple of verses: "<em>For in the heart of each white flower / shone a bit of golden sun.</em>"</p><p>Louis hides his blush against his shoulder. “Don’t start,” he warns, but there is no mistaking the shy pleasure in his voice. </p><p>“Is there anything you left in that house?” Henry asks after a moment. “I’m sure Snyder can be… persuaded, if necessary.” </p><p>“No doubt you can be as persuasive as you are persistent,” Louis answers with a breath of laughter. “But no. All my wordly possessions are—” Sitting up he reaches for his bag, which he had brought downstairs with him earlier, as though he had anything to pack. “—here.” The bag was open, and the loose river pebbles all spill out. “Or on the floor as it were.” He snorts out a laugh.</p><p>Henry picks up a smooth, blue gray stone. “From the river?” he asks with a small smile.</p><p>With a shrug, Louis nods. “Flowers are beautiful, but they don’t keep very well,” he explains wryly. </p><p>Henry closes his hand over Louis’ after handing back the stone. “One day I will take you to the beach, for drift glass and sea shells. If you’ll allow me,” he finishes, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his hand.</p><p>Louis holds onto his hand. “Did you notice the painting, in the dining room, at John’s house?” he asks in a small voice. “I’ve cleaned and polished the frame a hundred times.” Like a window to another world, a seascape, captured in paint decades ago. </p><p>“It’s even more beautiful in reality,” Henry tells him, his voice holding such warmth Louis’ chest feels tight. “And a picture cannot capture the sound of the waves, of the gulls. The sea breeze on your skin.”</p><p>“I want that,” Louis whispers. “I want that, Henry.”</p><p>“You will have it. Soon.”</p><p>Louis nods jerkily, staring down at the pebble in his hand, then looks up at him with a small, playful smile. “Do you want to play knucklebones?”</p><p>It breaks the tension, making Henry laugh at the unexpected question. </p><p>They both have to make an effort to keep their voices down while they play, and quiet their laughter. Louis is dexterous and nimble, but Henry’s hands are larger, and surprisingly quick for all that, and it’s a fierce competition.</p><p>It’s a quarter past midnight when Louis next looks up at the clock. </p><p>“Anything?” Henry asks, following his gaze. </p><p>“Not really.” After a second’s hesitation he has to check the mark on his forearm: it’s completely gone, except for faint scarring, not unlike the scar on his other wrist from touching a boiling metal pot, or on the back of his hand from the fireplace. </p><p>Henry brushes his fingers over the mark soothingly. “It’s over,” he says.</p><p>“I don’t think I can believe it until I cross that bridge and leave this place,” Louis replies, voice tremulous.</p><p>Henry pulls him into a hug, stroking up and down his back for a moment. “Why don’t you try to sleep, get some rest? I can read to you,” he suggests in a soft voice.</p><p>Louis nods into the base of his shoulder, then after a moment pulls back, wiping his wet eyes. He freezes, his gaze dropping to his hand: in his palm sit five sparkling teardrop shaped gems. His mouth falls open.</p><p>Henry holds one up for inspection, his own eyes round. “It certainly looks real. Rather more valuable than sea glass,” he says with an incredulous laugh, returning it.</p><p>Louis frowns down at the gems. “Am I supposed to cry more? I think I’ve done quite enough of that over the years.” For some reason, it’s laughter that bubbles up in his chest. “But—Oh, this can this help, can’t it? So that the Whitefields may pay their debts?”</p><p>Henry folds his fingers over his palm, and rests his hand over his hand. “They’re yours, Louis.”</p><p>“I want to help, though. To be entirely honest, I have no idea how much they might be worth, but I want to help.” He breathes a faint laugh. “And Ruth has some strong onions…” he quips.</p><p>Henry laughs, but shakes his head. “No more tears,” he says with surprising earnestness. </p><p>Smiling ruefully, Louis nods. “The forest creature said there would be more than pain at the end. But I don’t know that any treasure would have made it that much easier… all these years…” he murmurs, setting the gems aside with care.</p><p>Cupping the side of his neck, Henry draws him close. Louis rests his forehead on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, soaking in his warmth and solid comfort. </p><p>“Henry?” he whispers after a moment, pulling back to look at him. </p><p>“Yes?” </p><p>He swallows thickly, bracing himself. “Could you kiss me?” </p><p>Henry cradles his face in one hand. “May I?” </p><p>“Please.” </p><p>Leaning in, he brushes their lips together, careful and soft—once, twice, then draws back, though only enough to ask: “Good?”</p><p>“Yes.” John is no longer the only man to have kissed him, and it feels like a new beginning. “Only…”</p><p>“Yes?” Henry withdraws so as to be able to look him in the eye, but Louis loops his arms around his neck, keeping him close.</p><p>“Only I would like you to do it again.” </p><p>He seeks out Henry’s mouth himself this time, shy but determined. Their lips move against each other, purposeful now, and Louis tastes Henry on his tongue. “And again,” he whispers when they part. </p><p>One hand on his waist, Henry lowers him down onto the blankets, bends down to kiss him—then tickles him, fingers sweeping over his ribs, so that Louis dissolves into giggles. </p><p>“Henry!” he protests even as he pulls Henry down for more kisses.</p><p>“I couldn’t resist,” Henry laughs.</p><p>He is so big on top of him, and quickly takes control as they kiss, his mouth intent, his hands on Louis’ jaw, then fitting to his waist. Despite his own ardor, Louis shies at the first hint of Henry’s growing erection, hot and firm against his thigh.</p><p>Henry immediately sits up, giving him space. “Forgive me.”</p><p>“Anyone could come down,” Louis gasps apologetically, fixing his hair.</p><p>“You’re right. This is not the time or place.” Henry releases his breath in a sheepish laugh, then turns a suggestive eye on him. “I would have you on a bed, where you can lay in comfort while I take my time giving you every pleasure.”</p><p>Louis flushes, and presses his knees together as his cock twitches with desire. “That’s enough of that, if you’re going to spend the night down here. You’re already going to be uncomfortable, given your size.” He blushes when Henry laughs at the unintentional double entendre, and is overcome with sudden shyness and uncertainty. “You will… stay with me, won’t you?”</p><p>Henry brings him in for a quick, chaste kiss. “Always, if you wish it.”</p><p>Speechless, he runs his fingers through Henry’s hair, and kisses him again before climbing to his feet. “Let me put out the candles.”</p><p>While he does so, Henry clears the pebbles and arranges the blankets for sleep. Louis tiptoes his way back in the gloom, only faint moonlight filtering through the curtains and the dim glow of banked embers in the kitchen fire. </p><p>This time, Henry rests a hand on his stomach himself, and rolls them to their sides, like the night before. </p><p>Louis feels himself relax at once, all the tension and restlessness and emotion of the day catching up with him—he’s suddenly exhausted, his eyelids heavy. </p><p>“I like when you hold me, like this,” he confesses in a drowsy whisper, clumsily interlacing their fingers over his middle. </p><p>Henry gives him a light squeeze, kissing his shoulder. “I’ve got you, my love.”</p><p>—</p><p>There is an unfamiliar weightlessness when he wakes up in the morning, still in Henry’s arms. Today is the day he’s leaving Brambridge—John, for good. It’s surreal. </p><p>Of course leaving Brambridge means having to say goodbye to the Hartmans and Oli. And even though there is every expectation they will be reunited as soon as possible, it’s still hard. These are the people who have kept him from falling apart for years, his dearest friends. </p><p>There are tears while embracing Ruth and the children, but they slip down his cheeks and dry out as usual.</p><p>When he shows Jamie the gems and explains, he looks at them with only mild surprise, impassive as usual. He frowns however, when Louis drops one in his hand. </p><p>“Whoa, what are you doing. I can’t take this.”</p><p>“Not just for you. For the village as well. I reckon it should be enough for a new milking cow for the Elliots, and to pay for repairs for Miss Oxley’s home, maybe a new draft horse to share for the ploughing.”</p><p>Jamie grips his shoulder. “Louis, you don’t… you don’t have to do this.” </p><p>“I know. I want to.”</p><p>With a long sigh, Jamie brings him in for a hug. “Take care of yourself. And let him take care of you,” he adds, his eyes sliding to Henry as he helps Sam onto the cart. </p><p>“We’ll see each other soon,” Louis says tearfully.</p><p>Jamie nods. “You won’t have time to miss us.”</p><p>Oli echoes him, hooking an arm around his neck: “You won’t even have to have a wedding without me.”</p><p>He hasn’t even given Henry an answer yet, but the thought of getting married without Oli makes his eyes sting. “I couldn’t,” he sniffles, his breakfast heavy in his stomach.</p><p>“He’ll be holding our money from the sale of the horses, so you will see him soon, I guarantee it,” Sam assures him jokingly as he tries to find a comfortable position in the cart. </p><p>Oli gives him a deadpan look, before clasping Louis a tight hug. “It’s time,” he tells him, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Off you go.”</p><p>Henry hoists him onto the cart, and in a matter of minutes they are moving. Louis stares dumbly at the receding figures, before starting.</p><p>“Take care of Barley!” he calls, and Oli waves, signalling he heard him. </p><p>For all the reassurances, and the fact he is no longer penniless, Louis still feels momentarily adrift, and overcome with emotion. He’s bitten the inside of his cheek sore in no time, and his stomach roils at the sight of the house beyond the bend in the road—John must know by now he is gone and is not coming back. </p><p>There is smoke coming from the chimney, and one of the windows upstairs—the master bedroom, he realises—is open, but at a distance he cannot see anyone. Still, they are signs that life goes on, without him. He has taken nothing, and is leaving nothing behind, except years of his life—marked in callouses and scars, and an ache and wariness in his heart.</p><p>Louis turns away as they start over the bridge, tensing. It’s a symbolic barrier—he could not leave John’s house for the field, or the house down the street—but it feels momentuous, and he cannot help the mixture of anticipation and fear, in spite of everything. </p><p>He stares in disbelief from the other side, and looks back until the house, and soon the village itself is completely out of sight.</p><p>“Breathe, sweetheart,” Henry tells him at last, kissing the side of his head. “You’re free.”</p><p>Louis tears up again, smiling tremulously. After a minute, he snuggles up against Henry, holding onto his arm and playing with the hair on the back of his hand. His warmth and solid figure ground him, his steady breathing. He feels safe with him, like he never had with John, even when he was head over heels for him.</p><p> </p><p>They reach the nearest town nearing evening, with enough light for Louis to see how different it is. Though he fancies he can smell it too—things he can’t quite identify yet, but are not what he is familiar with: the fragrant green of trees and grass, and the earthy smell of the river. He stares at the lamposts, marvels at the cobbled streets, and goes wide eyed at the light and bustle of the inn. </p><p>While Henry is thanking their driver, Sam leans in to ask him discreetly, “Should we request two rooms, or one for the three of us?”</p><p>Blushing hard, Louis glances at Henry, shaking hands with Jackson. With a burst of confidence, or perhaps the desperate longing to have Henry hold him another night, something he can’t imagine tiring of, he replies: “Two.”  </p><p>Biting back a grin, Sam nods.</p><p> </p><p>Dinner is different, in the hustle and bustle of the inn’s common room. Louis has to remind himself no one is looking at him, when he feels eyes on him. Despite his nerves, his appetite is better than it has been in a long time, and he eats with pleasure. </p><p>Nonetheless, he is glad to go up to their room afterwards, welcoming the quiet and the lighter air. </p><p>“I feel drunk,” he pronounces giddily, leaning against the closed door. </p><p>Henry offers his hand, solicitous, and breaks into a grin when Louis gives a careful twirl. </p><p>Louis breathes out a laugh. “I haven’t danced in ages.”</p><p>“You like to dance, love?” Henry asks, spinning Louis again with one hand on his waist. </p><p>“When I’m happy.” Looping his arms around his neck, he rests his head against Henry’s chest with a sigh, playing with the thick curls at his nape. “Or drunk.” </p><p>Henry obliges with a chuckle, but holds him close and sways them in place for a moment. </p><p>“It all feels… unreal,” Louis confesses. He can barely believe he’s miles and hours away from the village—from John. That that life is done.</p><p>“It is real. You’re here.” Henry runs a soothing hand down his spine, nuzzling his hair. </p><p>“With you,” Louis agrees, drawing back enough to look up at him. His lips curve into a teasing smile as he rests his hands on Henry’s broad chest. “Big and solid.”</p><p>Henry laughs. “Indeed.”</p><p>Noticing how his eyes drop to his lips, Louis presses himself closer, one hand trailing down his chest to feel between his legs. “Thick too?”</p><p>Henry’s eyes darken with heat. “Quite,” he says, his voice rough.</p><p>Louis wets his lips, then gets on his tip toes to kiss him, soft and quick. “There’s a bed,” he says breathily. “Will you… have me? Like you said last night?” he asks, blushing.</p><p>Henry’s grip on his waist tightens, while his other hand comes up to cradle Louis’ face. “It will be my greatest pleasure,” he murmurs, guiding him into a deep, hard kiss with a hand on his jaw. </p><p>Louis clutches at him, feeling the hard muscles under his clothes, the warmth of his body against his own. He pulls at Henry’s shirt to untuck it from his trousers, and has the first button of his waistcoat undone, when Henry picks him up, making him gasp. </p><p>Hands under his thighs, he walks them to the bed while pressing wet, ticklish kisses on his neck, the sting of his beard contrasting with the soothing touch of his lips.</p><p>“Sweeter than any berry,” Henry declares as he lays him down on the bed, holding himself over him. When he slips a hand under his shirt, Louis shudders at the touch on his bare skin. “As beautiful as any flower.” </p><p>Chest heaving, Louis tugs at his shirt again, and Henry straightens to quickly divest himself of his waistcoat and pull his shirt over his head, revealing the wide expanse of his chest. </p><p>Louis stares, running a hand over the defined muscles on his abdomen, following the trail of dark hair until it disappears into his breeches. </p><p>“I want to know what you taste like,” he blurts out. Cupping the outline of his cock he can feel the heat and heft of him over the cloth. </p><p>“Are you certain?” Henry asks in surprise, sitting up on his knees. </p><p>“Yes.” Louis tilts his chin up, raising himself up on his elbows. “I’m no blushing virgin,” he says, though he can feel the heat in his own cheeks, and the wobble in his voice betrays him. “Even if… it’s been a while. Let me… get on the floor.”</p><p>“Whatever is more comfortable for you, pet,” Henry says, his voice sounding rather strangled, as he turns to sit on the edge of the bed and Louis slides down to his knees in front of him. “So beautiful,” he groans, cupping his face, thumbing at the corner of his mouth. </p><p>He pauses as he is unbuttoning his breeches, however. “This will give you pleasure? I do not want you to feel like you need to… service me,” he says awkwardly.</p><p>Louis shakes his head, flushing. “It will.” He lowers the flap of the breeches himself, baring him. “I like it,” he confesses in a whisper.</p><p>He gapes at Henry’s heavy balls and cock, not quite at full hardness yet, but still—“Definitely big and thick,” he breathes, mouth watering. </p><p>Henry chuckles, giving himself a loose pump, coaxing the first bit of precum. Louis leans in to lick it off automatically.</p><p>“Fuck, Louis.”</p><p>Looking up at him from under his lashes, Louis nudges his hand aside to hold him and leans in to suckle at the head. He hasn’t done this in so long, but there’s a certain amount of muscle memory and instinct. He runs his free hand from the vee of his groin, up his muscled thigh and back, fondling at the heavy balls while lapping at the leaking head.</p><p>Henry rests a hand on the back of his neck, firm but gentle, to guide, not control, as Louis takes more of him in his mouth with a quiet moan.</p><p>Louis’ own arousal is throbbing only from the taste and heat of him in his mouth, as he sucks him to full hardness, fingertips not quite able to touch as he works the shaft with his hand in sloppy tandem. </p><p>Jaw aching, he has to pull back after a few minutes, breathing hard, so turned on he thinks he could come just like this. Flicking the tip of his tongue over the healing cut on his lip is an unconscious move, so that for a moment he’s confused by Henry asking: “Is it painful?” His tone apologetic.</p><p>“Oh.” Louis touches two fingers to his mouth absently, resting his head on Henry’s thigh, his other hand between his legs, palm pressed to his own aching erection. “It only stings a little. I’m fine.” </p><p>Humming, Henry reaches for him. “Come here, pet, let me take care of you,” he says, pulling him to his feet to stand between his spread legs. </p><p>“But you haven’t finished.” </p><p>“I’d rather not, yet.” Henry bunches up his shirt at his waist. “Take this off for me, sweetheart?” </p><p>“You too,” Louis motions with his chin at his breeches, socks and shoes.</p><p>In a minute Henry is sitting completely in the nude. </p><p>“Should I help?” he asks, reaching for Louis, his hands on his hips, sliding back to grip his arse. </p><p>Louis holds onto his shoulder with one hand to steady himself. “Henry,” he gasps. “I can do it.”</p><p>Henry chuckles. “Alright.”</p><p>A bit self consciously, Louis removes his shirt, immediately after reaching up to fix his tousled hair. He blushes at Henry’s murmured ‘beautiful’ and holds his breath as he steps out of his breeches—he’s so hard—leaving him in only his stockings, gartered above his knees.</p><p>His gaze heated, Henry looks him over, then stands, making their size difference all that more apparent. “Such a pretty little thing,” he says, making Louis flush. </p><p>Leaning down he kisses him, his hands on Louis’ waist, sliding down to his arse, fingers dipping between his cheeks to brush against his hole. Louis whimpers, clutching at Henry.</p><p>“Come here.” Henry encourages him on lay the bed on his back, while he lies on his side, propped on one elbow, touching him: thumbing at his sensitive nipples, following the dip of his waist, the jut of his hipbone, the inside of his thighs, until Louis is desperate. </p><p>Clinging to him, he throws a leg over him, his cock against Henry’s hard stomach, wetness clinging to the dark hair there. “Henry, stop teasing,” he whines.</p><p>“I’m not, sweetheart,” Henry says softly, amusement in his voice. “You’re beautiful, and I like to look at you, and touch you, and kiss you—” Instead of kissing his mouth, he kisses his neck, his collarbones; tongues at a nipple. “Doesn’t it feel good?”</p><p>“It does,” Louis gasps.</p><p>“But you want something else.” Henry wraps his hand around Louis’ cock, enveloping it completely, giving him a slow stroke. “This?”</p><p>Louis jerks as he thumbs at the sensitive head. “Yes. No,” he answers, voice unsteady, trembling. </p><p>“This?” Henry’s hand trails behind his balls to press against his taint and tease at his hole again.</p><p>Louis pushes his hips into the touch. “Please, please. Henry!?” he cries, when Henry sits up without warning.</p><p>He runs a palm down the back of Louis’ right thigh. “Let’s get these off you, hm?” Undoing the garter buckle, he carefully slides the first stocking down his leg—kissing the inside of his knee, his ankle, the arch of his foot. Then repeats the process with the other, leaving Louis naked: legs spread and knees bent, feet at the edge of the bed.</p><p>Louis peeks at him from behind the forearm he’d thrown over his eyes. “Only, you cannot finish inside me.” </p><p>“Of course, love.”</p><p>When Henry gets up to fetch some oil, Louis rolls onto his front and tucks his knees under him. </p><p>“God, pet.”</p><p>His eyes flutter closed when Henry rests a hand on his lower back, keeping him in place, while wet fingers find his hole. </p><p>Henry is careful, methodical, as he works him open enough to take his cock. But Louis can hear his ragged breathing; and the occasional brush of his hard, hot cock against the back of his thigh proves how affected he is too. His voice is rough as he keeps telling Louis how well he’s taking his fingers, how wet and eager he is, and how Henry will soon give him everything he wants and needs. </p><p>It’s only nerves, after so long, that keep Louis from coming when he’s three fingers in, setting sparks alight with every twist of his wrist. </p><p>“That’s enough, I need you,” he moans, grabbing at the sheets. “Inside me. Your cock,” he babbles. </p><p>Shushing him soothingly, Henry encourages him to lie on his back, then pulls him to the edge of the bed and lifts his ankles onto his shoulders. </p><p>“Like this?” he asks, leaning down to kiss him, bending Louis almost double, teasing his hole with his cock as he positions himself. </p><p>“Yes, yes.” Louis whimpers, clutching at his arms as Henry pushes inside, sliding in inch by inch. </p><p>“Are you alright, love?” Henry draws back a little so as to look him in the eye, though he is breathing hard too.</p><p>Louis gives a jerky nod. “Mhm. Feels… so good,” he breathes. “You’re just… fuck… so big.” </p><p>Henry presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, more beard than lip. “Easy. You’re taking me so well, pet,” he tells him.</p><p>It isn’t long before he can start moving, slow and deep inside Louis. One knee on the bed, and one foot on the floor, he works out a rhythm, each thrust making Louis’ breaths hitch.</p><p>When he pulls out almost completely and back in, in one smooth motion—once, twice—Louis gasps into the crook of his arm and comes, hard, clenching around him. </p><p>Henry groans, and pants out how good Louis feels around him as he holds himself still for a second, arms straining—then, once Louis has loosened around him, he fucks in and out a few more times, Louis whimpering with oversensitivity, before pulling out. </p><p>“Come on me,” Louis begs him, voice hoarse, transfixed by the sight of the damp hair on his chest, trailing down his stomach, his cock.</p><p>“Fuck. Yes.” Cock flushed, Henry strips himself quickly until he releases on Louis’ stomach and cock, which twitches, watching him, the strong lines of his jaw and the furrow of his eyebrows as he comes.</p><p>Once they have both caught their breath, Louis gives him a light nudge on the shoulder with his foot. “My legs are cramping,” he says, between teasing and apologetic. </p><p>Henry chuckles. “Sorry, love.” Squeezing his ankle, he sets his legs down, carefully. “Alright?” </p><p>“Mhm.” He stretches with a groan, languid and giddy, while Henry finds a flannel to wipe themselves clean. “Better than alright,” he says, when Henry kneels over him, pulling him down for a quick kiss. </p><p>“I’m glad I could please you,” Henry laughs.</p><p>“Is this another one of your tricks, hm, to help me sleep?” Louis teases, snuggling up against Henry after a quick wipe down. </p><p>“Better than counting sheep, is it not?”</p><p>Louis giggles. “Yes. But I don’t think I’m quite ready to sleep yet.” He presses a biting kiss to Henry’s chest, his hand small on his upper arm as he gives him a squeeze. </p><p>“No?” Henry hums with faux consideration, his hand travelling down Louis’ spine to his arse. With ease, he pulls Louis on top of him, so that he’s straddling his hips. </p><p>Blood rushes between Louis’ legs at the thought of more kisses, more touches, of having Henry inside him again. </p><p>“Think you can stay up a little longer too?” he asks, shifting so that he’s grinding against Henry’s crotch.</p><p>Grasping his hip with one hand, Henry gropes for the oil with another. “I think I’ll manage.”</p><p> </p><p>Later, sated and relaxed, Louis curls up under Henry’s arm, head on his chest. He’s sore, but feels so good. Still, now that they are done and about to sleep, what had been a niggling worry suddenly has his stomach in knots.</p><p>“What happens tomorrow?” he asks in a small voice. </p><p>Henry’s soft caressing of his arm doesn’t falter. “Hm. Tomorrow we shall take the coach down to Bartlett, I believe it’s called, and then it should be straight to Westbrooke, where the Whitefields live.”</p><p>Louis burrows closer, hugging his middle. “And then?” </p><p>His hand stills now, obviously picking up on Louis’ anxiety. “Sam has his home in Rushmere. And his wife loves company,” he says, then gathers him closer, speaking into his hair. “Beyond that, it’s up to you, Louis.”</p><p>Louis fidgets nervously with Henry’s chest hair.</p><p>“You have some capital of your own now. Sam and I, and the Whitefields, no doubt, will help you in whatever you may wish to do. But—” He pulls back, encouraging Louis to look at him, a gentle hand on his face. “I still hope I may convince you to marry me,” he says with a soft, hesitant smile.  </p><p>Louis rubs the back of his knuckles over the beard on his neck, his jaw, taking in his handsome, earnest face. “You still want me? Even now that you’ve… had me?” he asks, needing to be sure. </p><p>“What? Of course.” Henry brushes his hair from his forehead. “Louis, my desire is not the extent of my affections. I am in love with you, my flower.” </p><p>Louis smiles, overcome with emotion. “And I with you.” Ann’s warnings, his own wariness after John’s treatment, have no place here with Henry. “I could not tie myself to another man that wasn’t you,” he whispers, tugging on him for a soft kiss. </p><p>“Wait. Are you accepting my proposal?” Henry breaks into a grin. </p><p>Louis giggles. “Yes.” </p><p>“Now how am I supposed to sleep, when all I want is to announce my joy to all and sundry,” Henry quips. Holding him close, he buries his face in his neck, then kisses him all over his face while tickling him until Louis is breathless with laughter.</p><p>Louis has not gone to sleep feeling so content and safe in longer than he can remember.  </p><p>—</p><p>The feeling has not faded upon waking the next morning. They break their fast early in the morning. In the common room Louis gives a hesitant nod to two men he recognises from the night before, but they only stare. Uneasy, he stirs his bowl of oatmeal with a small frown.</p><p>Sam pushes the small pot of honey toward him. “It’ll be much better if you remember to put the honey in.”</p><p>Louis breathes a faint, embarrassed laugh. “Sorry. I must still be half asleep,” he says.</p><p>“Yes, I’m sure you didn’t get much sleep last night,” Sam replies, deadpan, picking up his spoon somewhat awkwardly with his non-dominant hand.</p><p>“Not much, but I slept very well,” Louis manages, even as he blushes.</p><p>Sam chuckles, clearly surprised and pleased by his response. “I’m glad,” he says more earnest than teasing, before Henry returns to the table after discussing final arrangements for the stagecoach.</p><p> </p><p>The carriage journey is rather more comfortable than the cart, especially when it starts raining, and in spite of the pleasant soreness from his night with Henry that has Louis shifting in his seat every so often—so different from the pain of excessive toil and John’s brutality.</p><p>Henry remains as gentle and gallant as ever. And they cannot stop smiling at each other, touching each other, which makes the long hours on the road pass in a blink. </p><p>“I did not think this through, travelling with a loved up pair,” Sam grouses from the seat opposite, looking up from his book, where he has had his nose buried for the better part of the journey. “I am delighted at your engagement, but do please have some pity on the injured.”</p><p>Blushing, Louis apologises, but Henry only laughs. “Forgive me, my friend, but I don’t think I could resist, even for you.”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you could try?” he asks wryly.</p><p>Henry smiles at Louis, caressing his hand between them on the seat. “How can a man not rejoice at the sun?”</p><p>“It’s raining…” Sam says under his breath, while Louis ducks his head bashfully.</p><p>“Now you’re just teasing,” he chides. </p><p>Before Henry can answer, the carriage lurches unexpectedly, almost landing Louis on the floor.</p><p>“Must have hit a rough spot on the road,” Henry guesses, helping him sit back, giving his wrist a reassuring squeeze. “Are you alright, Sam?” </p><p>Sam holds his hand up to his broken collarbone with a slight grimace. “Fine.”</p><p>The jolting movement cannot feel good, Louis knows. </p><p>A minute later it happens again, a nauseating lurch—but instead of going back to normal, the coach tips terrifyingly as it takes a sharp turn, rights itself jerkily, then comes to a jarring stop.</p><p>“What on—” Sam grunts through clenched teeth.</p><p>The sound of a commotion outside reaches them, the unmistakeable sound of distressed horses and shouting men. </p><p>“What’s happening?” Louis breathes, gripping Henry’s hand fearfully. </p><p>“Bandits, it must be, with our luck,” Sam replies.</p><p>Henry keeps hold of Louis’ hand as he rises to peer outside, but he lets go after a moment, his whole body going taut. In one swift move, he reaches for his sword in its case under the seat. </p><p>“Stay here,” he orders, his voice low and urgent.</p><p>Louis stares at him wide eyed—Sam is injured and Louis cannot fight. “Wh—No. Henry?” he stammers.</p><p>A shot rings out the moment Henry opens the door, the bullet hitting the window, which shatters. </p><p>“Henry!” </p><p>“Don’t move, stay here,” he repeats, jumping out and slamming the door behind him. </p><p>When Louis immediately reaches for the door handle, Sam grabs his wrist. “Where are you going?” </p><p>“To help him.” </p><p>“How? You have no weapons. You cannot fight,” he says, matter of fact. </p><p>Louis stares at him, wide eyed. “I can’t do <em>nothing.</em>” </p><p>“There is nothing you can do.” Sam motions for his own sword case. “In here I can protect you more easily, if it comes to it.”</p><p>Louis hands him the case, but the tension builds in him at the sound of scuffling and ringing swords. He flinches as another pistol goes off. Henry is out there, in danger.</p><p>“No,” he blurts out, and opens the door before Sam can try to stop him.</p><p>He topples out of the carriage, eyes wild, seeking out Henry. He catches sight of him, knocking down a man to the mud, driving the pommel of a pistol over his head. In an instant he recognises the man from the inn, the one who had been staring at him. But there’s—blood, blood all down Henry’s front.</p><p>Suddenly his air is cut short as he is grabbed from behind in a chokehold.  </p><p>“Louis, there you are. Thought we might have to flush you out, like a rabbit, hm?” John sneers in Louis’ ear. “Did you really think you could walk away just like that?” </p><p>“Can’t… stop me,” Louis gasps brokenly. He scrabbles at John’s arms, though his blunt nails can’t be doing much damage, and tries to stomp on his foot, but he doesn’t have enough leverage or weight to have much effect.</p><p>John tightens his arm around his neck, so that Louis has no strength, no air left for anything, then kicks hard at the back of his knee, which buckles. “Can’t I?” Drawing a dagger from his belt, he holds the blade to his throat, keeping an arm braced around his chest.</p><p>“Snyder!” Henry calls, his voice rough. The two men from the inn are on the ground, one cursing and groaning holding a hand to his head, but incapacitated, the other unconscious.</p><p>“What is it you want? Money? We can reach an agreement, only let him go.” </p><p>He steps toward them, bloodied sword in hand.</p><p>“Drop it!” John shouts. “Or I’ll bleed him. Don’t think I won’t.”</p><p>Henry only hesitates for a second before casting his sword to a side, and taking another step toward them, hands up, palms outward. “Let him go. You’re hurting him. Let’s… talk.”</p><p>“There’s nothing to talk about. He belongs to me—” John starts dragging him to the horses at the edge of the road, the blade pressed to his throat so that Louis can feel the cold metal against his racing pulse.</p><p>No, this cannot be happening. “No. I won’t—” he wheezes, trying to dig in his heels, feet slipping in the mud.</p><p>“Do you want him to see you die?” John growls in his ear, pulling him straight. “One wrong move and I kill him!” he shouts suddenly, as Henry makes a move toward them. </p><p>Henry stops, arms still held out, and then—calculated, precise—kicks a rock at the men’s horses.</p><p>One of them rears up, and another makes a run for it, distracting John enough for Louis to twist half out of his grasp. In the corner of his eye he sees the stagecoach door open.</p><p>“You little—” John makes a grab for his wrists automatically, but by that time Henry has reached them. He elbows John in the face, making him let go of Louis and stumble back. </p><p>“Henry!” </p><p>Henry practically lifts him up and passes him onto Sam, who in a quick move tosses him a sword and uses his good arm to steady Louis. </p><p>John brandishes his dagger, shoulders hunched and knees bent, glancing around in search of the nearest horse.</p><p>“Let’s… talk,” Henry repeats grimly.</p><p>Breathless, Louis watches them engage. There is no contest, however: John was never a swordsman, and Henry has him disarmed in a few moves. </p><p>He raises his hands up in defeat. “Alright. You got me. What are you going to do, kill me?” he chuckles humourlessly.</p><p>Henry stares at him for a long moment, the tip of his sword held to his throat, and Louis can see the perspiration on John’s face, the real fear in his eyes. </p><p>“If you ever come near Louis again,” he warns. “I <em>will</em> kill you.” </p><p>John gives the slightest tilt of his head in agreement. </p><p>“Let’s go.” Henry lowers his sword and turns around to them. </p><p>It happens in a blink of an eye, John pulls another small dagger out of his boot and lunges at Henry from behind.</p><p>“Henry!”</p><p>“Behind you!”</p><p>Spinning around at their warning, Henry seizes hold of John’s hand and twists it, forcing him to drop the dagger, then shoves him back. </p><p>As John missteps, slipping in the mud, he throws out an arm to catch himself, grasping at the nearest horse’s mane. That proves too much for the nervous stallion—it rears with a loud neigh, and kicks out as it dashes aimlessly away. </p><p>John flails—and falls off the side of the road, hitting rock and brush as he tumbles down the steep slope. </p><p>Louis rushes to Henry, Sam at his heels. “Are you hurt?” he asks urgently.</p><p>“I’m fine, sweetheart. He didn’t get me.” </p><p>“Blackguard,” Sam spits, taking his sword back. “There are pirates with more honour than him.”</p><p>Frantically, Louis pulls at Henry’s bloodied shirt, but it seems intact, and when he bunches it up he can’t make out any wound. “I thought—” he chokes out. “This blood.” </p><p>Henry palms the base of his neck, the weight and pressure comforting, and coaxes Louis into making eye contact. “It’s not mine. Well, some, from my nose. But I am not hurt beyond that.” His forehead wrinkles. “<em>You’re</em> hurt.”</p><p>When Louis touches two fingers to his neck they come back bloody, but it’s a shallow cut, and he can barely feel it with all the adrenaline. “It’s nothing. The driver?” he asks, voice shaking. </p><p>Sam goes over to check on him, and he stirs at once, groaning. “There you are, good man. Easy now.”</p><p>Louis sags in relief, seeing the old man sitting up. His face crumples as a sob escapes him. Overcome with emotion after the last minutes, regardless of the blood, he throws himself into Henry’s arms, burying his face in his chest.</p><p>Henry wraps his arms around him. “It’s alright, love. You’re safe. We’re safe.”</p><p>Without letting go, he turns to Sam as he returns from checking on the two men who had been helping John. “Impeccable timing as always,” he says over Louis’ head. </p><p>Sam lets out a laugh. “I was getting bored, watching from the carriage.”</p><p>Henry chuckles, before saying a simple, solemn: "Thank you.”</p><p>Gathering himself, Louis resurfaces, wiping his face with the heel of his hand as nods in agreement. “I should have listened to you.” </p><p>Sam shakes his head. “Who knows how that might have ended. It’s over, is all that matters.”</p><p>Louis nods again, but his eyes stray to the cliffside. </p><p>In silent agreement, the three of them walk to the edge of the road to look over. There is no chance John could have survived the fall. </p><p>“You were right to fear him,” Henry tells him quietly. </p><p>“I did, and yet, I never really thought…” As he leans into his side, Henry pulls him closer.</p><p>“It’s over now. Truly over.” </p><p>Louis nods, his heart lighter despite the ghastliness of death. An end for a new beginning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Chloe, I’ll finish up here, darling, it’s no trouble,” Louis tells his maid. Although the room still shows signs of the evening party, it will be short work to tidy up before bed. </p><p>“If you’re certain.” Chloe hurries to collect the last scattered glasses. “Let me take this through to the kitchen. And you’ll be wanting your honey and lemon tea?”</p><p>Louis rests a hand on his stomach with a wince. “Actually, yes, thank you, dear.”</p><p>With a warm smile and deferential nod, Chloe takes her leave. As she exits, the murmur of conversation in the entrance hall increases in volume for a second as the door opens and closes. Louis rolls his eyes with a fond smile, then carries on putting the room in order: while neatening up the cushions he finds a lost hand fan, which he sets aside in case it's reclaimed; he also discovers a wine stain on the carpet, and promptly covers it with a footstool.</p><p>Familiar footsteps cross the room over to him as he is in the process of putting out the candles.</p><p>Wrapping his arms around him from behind, Henry presses a kiss to the side of his head, then his cheek. “You sang beautifully, my love. It was the talk of the night.”</p><p>Louis ducks his head with a bashful smile, leaning back into the embrace. “Hardly. But it was so pleasant to sing with Jamie playing again.”</p><p>“You will soon be able to get used to it again.”</p><p>Sighing happily, Louis nods. Then tilts his head back to peer at his husband with a raised eyebrow. “And did Sam see reason?” he teases, making Henry chuckle.</p><p>“Just barely. The man is stubborn as a mule.”</p><p>Louis laughs. “It’s good to have him back as well.”</p><p>“I suppose so,” Henry replies jokingly—Louis knows well he had missed him while he was on a short voyage overseas. “He confirmed he will join us for Christmas dinner; Margaret and the children as well.”</p><p>“And Oli. And Charlie too.” Louis laces their fingers together. “It’s going to be the best Christmas ever.”</p><p>“Yes, it is. It will be very busy as well; you must not forget to rest, love.” </p><p>“Mhm. I am tired,” he admits. Nonetheless, it's nothing like it used to be. His fatigue resulting from a night of entertaining and hosting, as well as—“Charlie noticed… my condition,” he reveals. Upon moving to Rushmere Louis had made quick friends with the painter whom Henry had commissioned to do a small portrait of him.</p><p>“Ah, well, he has a keen eye.” Henry rubs Louis' belly with one large hand, and kisses the side of his neck. “And you are so small. Soon it will be quite obvious to everyone.” </p><p>Louis lets out a breath of laughter, before abruptly tearing up. He has always cried easily, and he’s been even more sensitive since he got pregnant.</p><p>“What is it, sweetheart?” Henry asks urgently, turning Louis around in his arms.</p><p>Louis sniffles. “Nothing, I’m being silly. It’s only…” He holds onto the lapels of Henry’s waistcoat, worrying at the fabric. “Sometimes I’m afraid of closing my eyes for fear it’s all a dream.”</p><p>Cradling his face with one hand, Henry rests his other hand on his rounding belly again. “The babe?” </p><p>“Yes. And… you. This life, this happiness.”</p><p>The teardrop gems had allowed them to get settled in a handsome house, close to Sam, and near the sea. They are not rich, but live in comfort, and Louis lives in<em> his home</em>, rather than a prison. Jamie and his family will be moving closer soon, and Henry has found Oli a position as an ostler Louis knows he won’t be able to resist. It’s all perfect. Which only makes the fear of losing it all the greater.</p><p>“Oh, Louis, it’s no less than you deserve,” Henry reminds him, as he has before, when Louis worries that he doesn’t deserve good things. And then, as usual when he worries that the good things can never stay: “My love, everything is going to be alright.” </p><p>And as always, it helps. Though rationally he is aware Henry cannot know, he still infuses him with hope. </p><p>Louis relaxes in his husband's arms. “As long as the plum pudding turns out right,” he says playfully, then adds with a small frown: “I fear I may have started late and it won’t have the time it needs to mature.” The morning sickness from the pregnancy had been bad, leaving him unable to tolerate the smell of prunes.</p><p>Biting back a grin, Henry gives him a careful squeeze. “I’m certain it will be perfect. And if not, we can eat ginger bread and fruit cakes. And there are always pears.”</p><p>He laughs when Louis draws back to give him a playful glare—he hates pears. </p><p>“Perhaps oranges?” Henry quips, drawing a laugh out of him.</p><p>“And we’ll dance?” Louis asks quietly after a moment.</p><p>“Of course, my flower, for as long as we live.” Henry kisses him, and lifting him carefully, spins him in place, Louis giggling as he holds on. He’s happy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What Henry reads to Louis is an anachronistic modified version of verses in <a href="http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/why_the_daisies_are_white.html">Why the Daisies are White</a>, poem by Mary Dow Brine.</p><p>Title from <a href="https://www.oxfordlieder.co.uk/song/2070">The Lent Lily</a>, poem by A. E. Housman.</p><p>-</p><p>Thank you <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/edensrose/pseuds/edensrose">Liz</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/louizsv/pseuds/louizsv">Mads</a> for your encouragement as always; and thank you to everyone who has left a comment or kudos (or message!) on my fics before—it honestly means so much! </p><p>I hope someone enjoyed this too! Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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